What a week it has been...

Emily Writes Weekly

Today I woke up to the sound of my youngest playing princesses with our new kitten. Our kitten Bruce Sunshine Daffodil has brought an absurd amount of joy to our lives. And we really needed the joy this week.

On the 19th my grandfather passed away. We knew we wouldn’t be able to travel to go to his funeral. I was at peace about this. Funerals are for the living. There are so many ways we can honour someone when they pass.

But on Saturday, sitting alone watching the live stream I felt heartbroken. I was surprised by how raw and bloody my grief was. As soon as I saw my grandfather’s coffin on the screen it hit me hard. It felt so utterly unnatural to grieve alone, in isolation. Yet this is how many in my whānau were marking the end of the life of our father, grandfather, and great grandfather.

A friend came by with flowers and when she saw me, sobbing alone in front of the television, she gave me a huge hug and stayed with me for the rest of the funeral.

A live streamed funeral gives you different camera angles. One shows you your loved one resting in their coffin. The other shows the faces of family that you cannot comfort.

I wanted to reach through somehow but couldn’t. Seeing family crying and holding each other and being unable to awhi in return was awful.

My friend sat next to me and when she left my husband came into my room to hold my hand.

When my grandfather’s coffin was taken the camera stayed still, set on an empty room. The staff at the funeral home came through, they straightened the chairs. They prepared for the room to fill again.

They walked slowly, sometimes speaking to each other across the aisle. It felt as if I was watching something forbidden. Nobody stays in the church once the coffin is gone. Nobody stays in the funeral home, they journey on.

Nobody stays.

I wondered how long I could just sit and watch them. But it did not take them long to finish their mahi. It was over.

The room was empty. The room was still.

My husband gently held me, turned off the stream and encouraged me into bed. The sun shone through the window and he stroked my hair. I fell asleep quickly and dreamt of empty rooms.

*

The cat trusts us more than it should. My littlest one keeps forcing him to play Princess. Princess Bruce Sunshine Daffodil is dragged around the room but he never scratches. Princess Bruce Sunshine Daffodil is a friend no matter what to my little boy.

Eddie thinks Bruce can tell when he’s having a low. Bruce lies next to him and purrs. Eddie curls around him, juice box in hand, and his heart beat slows to match the tiny engine of his pet.

Bruce fills the empty rooms. He leaps from bed to chair to table to chest of drawers. He nestles under your legs. He chirps. He nuzzles. He is a tiny thing thats presence is somehow big enough to soothe our biggest sadnesses.

*

Life fills the empty rooms. We keep going. We keep going.

Our work in this world is to continue. To find delight in the form of a kitten. To find comfort in the arms of a friend. To continue to be brave, to continue to fight for fair, to continue to hope for good even when the journey seems so long.

Maya Angelou said we should

‘let gratitude be the pillow
Upon which you kneel to
Say your nightly prayer’

I am grateful for those who prepare the rooms. I am grateful for the screens that bring us together. I am grateful for the heart that beats on, the kitten that purrs, the kindness that urges us to keep going. To continue.

I’m grateful for the continuing.