My husband died on the eve of winter, 2019 and like that he was gone.
His voice, his aroha, his laughter, his wit, his touch, his strength, his presence, gone and it was silent, deathly silent. There are old waiata (songs) that were composed in the searing pain of grief. The words carved loss and despair and the song echoed and ached so that we never forget. The words below of this waiata were composed by Timoti Rapatini, of Kai Tahu, in 1875. His wife Kiti died and he was left bereft.
Ia ka tere tapatahi, tenei ko te tawai kau o raro e;
You are my travelling canoe of the heavens,
But now we travel singly, and the hull below is plain
My husband found this waiata in old manuscripts and loved the words, they spoke to him. He described us as a waka unua, a double-hulled canoe. We were tongue and groove and bound together like the two hulls of a waka. We joke today about him being my cusband, and yes, we were related, we came from the same village and we had similar lines of whakapapa. Was it an accident that we happened to be related? No, it wasn’t, this was an almost deliberate transaction. We were passionate about te reo Maori, iwi politics and tikanga renaissance. We were both fairly brave or stupid or both and thrived on hui and wanaka filled with challenges and debate. We were both creative and a little bit crazy and being Maori and living as Maori was the highest priority for us. So, we understood each other and we fed each others dreams and desires.
Kei hea hoki nga rauawa i mau ai,
Ara te tuataka e i;
Where are the extended sides bound,
By the battens,
This makes our relationship sound like a business agreement, but I can assure the reader that we had a love that knew no bounds. An adoration of each other that was exciting and beautiful and sometimes a tad annoying. He prioritised me before our children and made that known to me every day and I look back now and realise that I really was his queen. We argued about politics and all sorts, the house was full of fire and noise and our children were exposed to our intense relationship dynamic but particularly his views of the world, history, music and so much more.
E kona pae ra ia i te tai e,
Tai pukaru e, tai marangai e i;
Laying yonder deposited by the tide,
Regardless a rippling sea or a stormy sea
So, when he died, I felt lost and alone. I suddenly understood the tikanga of haehae, widows cut their skin with mussel shells to release the pain and deep loss, I just needed to release the pain. I didn’t really cry at his tangi because I was just going through the motions and I was in shock. We buried him on Father’s Day, it sort of worked out that way and the kids wrote Father’s Day cards to him and put them in his coffin. We wrenched them away as we said goodbye and the lid went on and the screws were tightened one by one, readying him for his spiritual journey ahead. The karanga went out and his weight was felt by the many pall bearers. As he was lowered into a perfectly dug hole the karakia echoed out across the harbour. Red ochre lined the hole and the sky bled red as he was put to rest.
Ko te ngakau tonu ka mate,
Ka pokaikaha noa i konei e i.
It is the heart that pains,
Left bewildered in this world.
In the days and weeks that followed, time stopped as I walked like a zombie through the shopping aisles of the supermarket. I wanted to warn people, I wanted to tell them to hug their loved ones because the loss is unimaginable when they are gone. I struggled to breathe and had to re-teach myself to find oxygen. I found a song, just one song on Spotify that I listened to over and over and never listened to the song he said was about us, I still haven’t. I put one step ahead of the other and focused all my energy on our children. I gave my son three weeks to scream at me that he wished it was me who was dead and not his father, it took two and a-half weeks. We sat on his bed crying and I said to him that his grief journey is different from mine and that we need to just be gentle with each other and allow that to take its course.
... and as I look at my son today I see my husband, and I think there he is in my boy, not far from me, ever.
