I did take note, as it obviously stuck in my mind, but I didn’t really over think it. I had a look online at the notion of seven-year cycles and there is no scientific evidence to support it, but people have bought into it. It obviously spoke to my husband who definitely required solid evidence to have a belief in anything, he was a critic and a cynic and I loved that about him.
I feel so much change in the air and that’s why I have been thinking about the seven-year cycle. I am heading into the seventh year of Tahu’s passing too and I feel like that is pretty significant. In hindsight, the grief journey has been and still is a very hard and varied road. When Tahu died it happened so quickly I didn’t have a moment to work through any of it, I was in shock — as were the children — and I shoved a lid hard down on the emotions and put all of my energy into being the best parent I could be. There were many times I wasn’t, but I just knew in my mind that I had to be solid and there for my children, every step of the way.
I would describe myself as aspiritual, not spiritual ... an aspiritualist if you like. I have always been fairly closed off to anything that was inexplicable, not seen by the naked eye. I have seen the effects on some of my people when they have delved into matters they probably shouldn’t have. The wairua space is an interesting one and one I have stayed clear of, to be honest.
Tahu always said I was too closed off. I had never clocked a tohu (sign), as I think my blinkers were on. He always said I was no good at doing karanga at a tangi because I couldn’t draw on the emotion. Doing karanga at tangi is drawing on the grief of lost ones and letting that well up in you — calling and wailing and crying is the cathartic process of connecting with the whānau pani (grieving family) ... I thought I would be better at it after Tahu’s death. Turns out, I’m not. Utterly useless!
There are pros with this too, one being that I am able to go into old manuscripts written in old Kāi Tahu language and sometimes on very sensitive kaupapa and de-code them and translate them and close them and walk away without any heaviness or struggle or thought that I might be the chosen one, because I am definitely not.
All of this notwithstanding, there were some things I felt in the past seven years of this loss. In the early stages after Tahu’s death I would often wake up in the early hours of the morning, and feel his hand on mine — he was very close to us. It felt as if he was in the house and the children felt it too. In fact, my son cleansed the house twice to try to help move him on a bit. As Māori we clear houses of tapu and the likes, particularly after a death. So, we did that and I felt a shift, a small one. Then we noticed the red sky at dawn or dusk, and it was bright and striking and the timing of it was always perfect and the children would start to say, "we know, Pāpā". And then there were birds. Tahu was bird obsessed and there were many coming to us and interacting with us.
I know that this bird activity was normal, but we looked at the birds as if they were Tahu and felt it. After the unveiling of his headstone and certain personal milestones, I felt him stepping away. I know he was deeply worried about leaving us when he was terminally ill, and I felt all of that, but I know that now he is in a better space.
So, seven years will come around and that feels like a long time, but it also feels like yesterday. Seven years for my baby, who was 9 years old when his pāpā died, to heading to 16 years. He has become his own person, a quiet, kind man who has gone on his journey without his pāpā physically here but who has definitely looked out for him. I feel the change in the seven years, I have felt my change and growth too and I sometimes wonder if Tahu would even recognise me now? Because I am not the same person I was when he left ...
