I remember the first tangihanga I ever attended was for a favourite music kaiako. She was a total character, who would talk about bodily functions to shock and entertain us but also to ground us. So many had come to pay their respects and support her whānau. I felt reassured by the guidance given by my friends who had been to tangihanga before.
As we approached the wharenui, we could hear wailing. Inside there were many whanaunga to greet with hongi or kisses as we moved up the left side of the whare towards the coffin at the top. There was space to stand and carefully watch what my friends did before approaching the coffin. It was strange seeing a deceased person. I repeated what I had observed, moving up to the end of the coffin, looking respectfully at my kaiako and then moved up the left side of the coffin, knelt down and kissed her on the cheek. She was cold and hard, lifeless, very unlike herself. We continued greeting people as we moved down the right side of the whare until we found ourselves on the porch again. I felt relieved that part of the ceremonies was over.
I’ve been to many tangihanga since then, mainly for my own whānau. When my māmā passed more than 10 years ago, I was gifted the time to just sit with her in the wharenui. My whanaunga attended to all the necessities. They welcomed those who came to pay their respects and mourn with us. They prepared all the kai to feed everyone and when I tried to help, I was gently guided to go back to sit with my mother. This was the time for me to focus on her passing. That was a wonderful gift. I’ve been home since then to tautoko my whanaunga when their very close ones pass too.
When my māmā became unwell in her latter 60s, we began to discuss what her preferences for tangihanga would be. She wanted a small affair in her little abode, without fuss and expense. An older cousin of mine visited. He shared a different perspective. Having a tangihanga at her home would be difficult without all the infrastructure in place to cater for visitors. The marae would be easier for the kaimahi. I reminded her that she had done her fair share of mahi at tangihanga and other hui. That the tangihanga was for those she left behind. That her whanaunga would cover the costs.
I was all cried, kissed, hongi-ed and hugged out by the time we buried my māmā. So much manaaki and aroha. There were rituals I didn’t fully understand where I was cloaked in a whānau korowai, which I wore to the graveside in our whānau wāhi tapu on our whenua. I don’t recall when the korowai was removed but I was still enveloped in the love of my whanaunga.
Only three of my four tamariki have been home to tangihanga. My pōtiki will go with me at some stage in the next few years. I’ve had several conversations with my tamariki over the years about what might happen if I passed. I’ve had these conversations with them to acknowledge that death is a part of life and needs to be discussed so that decisions can be made in readiness.
I had a Pākehā husband when these conversations with our children began and we felt it probably best to keep me here in Ōtepoti and have New Zealand European rituals. We thought expecting them to experience tangihanga could be too difficult on top of losing a parent. As our tamariki have grown up and become increasingly engaged in te ao Māori and with their whānau, I’m no longer sure what the decisions will be. I want the open mourning process that tangihanga offers to them but for that to happen they need to be more engaged with their whanaunga at home too.
My eldest wants to go home to connect with her whenua so maybe that can be a beginning. I’m pleased that we can have these conversations openly and hope that they will lead to positive mourning experiences for them in the future no matter what combinations of rituals they choose.
The passing of my dear friend has been a difficult three years, especially for her dear close ones. They have fought hard and courageously. I have had the privilege in the past seven months to be alongside, supporting, caring, discussing, and laughing. We are now in the last days and I’m so proud of her family’s commitment to nursing her at home. She is comfortable, at peace and deeply, deeply loved.
