The service was today. I had had troubles calling the other cell phone last night, cos I knew last night was the last night, and I knew some people were going to have some good stories about my Nan, and I wanted to listen. But I found out that the phone got misplaced or something so that wasn’t going to happen. I had hoped it would spark some of my own memories for me, but you can’t miss what you never had.
I called my dads phone, he always has it on him. He was about 10 minutes from the Marae. I was so thankful for him; he was a big key in how far my involvement went on the whole day. He got to the Marae and immediately went to find uncle Pera, who passed me on to Aunty Jacque. She told me when I should call to check back in.
She told me to call back at the chapel in 20 minutes so she could see if the mic in the chapel was loud enough for me to hear. It was perfect.
She said call back in a bit and I should call in time to hear the Marae service. I went and lay down to collect my thoughts. I was scared of what I was going to hear, I knew my Nan had left us but it still isn’t real to me. I'm fortunate in a way because I can go on living in my own fantasy world thinking she's still here, I just haven’t talked to her in a while.
When I called back I was passed to my family who I imagined sitting around a white coffin, tear stained faces amongst a huge crowd, but at the front and center, in the midst of the dark hardwood floors and fellow mourners, sitting on their mattresses wishing for 10 more minutes with her. The phone was placed somewhere towards my
Nan for me to say what I wanted to say to her before they put the lid on her casket.
I choked up, in the background I could hear someone saying “Korero atu…. Korero atu kotiro”. A warm tear raced down my cheek as I stumbled to find the words. How do you tell someone who has been so influential in your life the things you want to say to them? How to you verbalize your love and admiration for someone, how do you tell them that your life has been changed so much by their presence in your life, and without them it seems too dark to carry on?
It was chilling, even though I wasnt there I could tell what was happening and envision it in my head, step by step what was going on. I bawled uncontrollably when I heard the wails get louder and louder when they put the lid on my nans coffin. I could imagine the sadness painted on my familys faces, as they hovering around my nan as she lay lifeless in a wooden box. I couldnt help but cry "Nana" under my muffled sobs.
Not too long after that the phone cut out. A little while later aunty Jacque called me back with another number to Karleens cell phone. I called back in time to hear my mother speak in the second service at the chapel.
It was hard to hear, but I could feel the emotion she was radiating. It was of course, her loss as much as anyone elses, and I could feel and sympathise the pain she was feeling, cos I was feeling it too. But she was strong. She said her piece.
Next they played the recording I made. I couldnt help but feel it was selfish the way I had spoken. My talk was solemn, filled with sorrow and mourning. I couldnt help it though, I had to say how I felt. I felt cheated, and in the depths of my stomach it churned like a pain that Ive never felt before. I wanted to communicate my loss, my sadness. I think I may have achieved that. Dad said later that evening that I held the fellow mourners hearts in my hands.
Which is why Im fortunate Korrie went after my recording was played. He reminds me so much of my Uncle Wayne. He knew exactly how to pick everyone back up. His anecdotes of my nan were some of the more priceless ones. Ones I know he will carry in his back pocket always.
He never ceases to amaze me that man. Even though I know he has a hole of his own on the inside, he trudges through the fog and darkness, trying to lead his family to a clearer day, with no regard for his own feelings or thoughts, but making the ultimate sacrifice. To be there when he is needed, solid as a rock.
The little girls sang "getting stronger". I listened to that song repeatedly that day to help flush my own tears out.
I was especially greatful for Uncle Pera to say that although I wasnt there, I was on the phone listening with everyone else. I wouldnt have had it any other way. After all technology is the reason why I was here, technology should be able to reunite me with those who need me at this time right?
I hung up after a brief talk to people after the service. It may seem selfish, but Ive felt almost a nuisance to a lot of people the past few days. For always tying up phone lines, for people 'having' to be on the phone with me.
And Ive also felt isolated in the same sentence. Alone. And when I try to reach out to those like my mother who can help to perk me up, theyre often too busy or dont want to talk to me for fear of saying something that may anger me, or simply not knowing what to say. It doesnt help to know that your the person on the phone no one wants to talk to. I hurt too damnit. I DONT want to be passed around on the phone like were at a 5 year olds birthday party playing pass the parcel. I know everyone else is busy, there is stuff going on, but in a way Im glad today was the last day and now its all over. Now I dont have to inconvenience anyone by making them have to hold the phone to their ear while Im on the other end.
Weird how that works too.
The only thing ill say from the buriel service, is it must have been windy. I picked up a lot of wind noise over the phone. But make no mistake, I heard loud and clear when they started to send my nan back to our mother earth. Korries voice was chilling as he (From what Im told) stood at the foot of his grandmothers buriel hole and started to haka, as she started her descent ki te po.
I ended hanging up because I couldnt hear much after that. And I felt like a pain in the ass. Im home alone anyway, so I just laid on my bed and cried again.
Oh well, just had to get that out, back to the festivities I guess.
