Departure

The last week has been like 4 wrapped into one. I kicked off last weekend when a very good friend of mine text me at 2.30am to tell me his mother had passed away from cancer. I love this friend in all ways and I'm sure if he wasn't married with 4 kids I might throw in a couple more ways :) Smart, considerate, capable and funny he has been a very good measure for what I like in a man. A couple of glitches (we all have them, my glitchometer sits around the 4 mark)that includes an over indulgence in alcohol and a penchant for going out with the boys. As I am not his wife none of this bothers me, if I was his wife I might have divorced him around 15 years ago :) The person I see is not the same one that resides with his family. I'm realisitic enough to recognise this, but I still prefer to see the best of him because I know far too many asses (donkey type not buttock type) parading as men. I spent much of the rest of the night wondering how the hell I might get there given it was in the north island and I was poorer than dirt. But it flowed....like this :
A friend had come down from Wellington to attend a family event and was driving back the next day so I caught a ride back up the country to the ferry, managed to secure one of only two remaining seats left, 3 hours on the ferry we arrive wellington where another friend meets me at the terminal. we drive 8 hours overnight and grab 4 hours sleep before picking up another friend and drive the last 3 hours to reach the funeral service that morning. This is not a funeral service as you might know, we have a ritual which is quite particular to our culture. The person lies in state for 3 days, coffin open, people able to come and share time - talk, cry, shout, berate, laugh and remember that person all while living and sleeping beside them in a very big meeting house. Its very interactive and on the third day, usually before dawn, the coffin lid is secured (so that they literally don't see another 'day')and the service is held that morning with burial (no, not cremation or sea burial, it must be ground burial) and everyone comes back for a feast. Very similar to an Irish wake, a celebration of the person, their life and existence.
So I arrived in time for the service, saw my friend and cried, just because I know his pain and the burdens on him as the eldest. I watch him all day, putting on a brave face, getting all the jobs done, supervising the service and car to take her to the family cemetary (a secluded, sunny cliff top overlooking the Pacific Ocean, not a bad resting place, akin to paradise actually....) making sure everyone is taken care of, fed, acknowledged, wanting for nothing - giving, even when it hurts, still giving. Only one moment during the day I saw his mask fall. My friend stood off to the side while they gave the last prayers, my former boss approached him and put his hand on his shoulder and said a few words. I saw my friends downcast face, his eyes water and his head drop, only for around 5 seconds. Its terrible to be a man sometimes.
We head back and attend the feast before making our farewells, I still had to get all the way home again...
I hugged him hard and felt terrible waving goodbye, I just wanted to wrap him in cotton wool and put him somewhere safe where nothing could hurt for a while.
He knows just by my attendance from so far away that we don't need to talk about how sorry we are or about the pain.
My friends and I drove back down the island (stopped and swam in a pristine river because it was 40 degrees celsius) and I managed to get a very cheap flight from the north island to the south island for the last remaining leg of my journey. I caught up with a few people I know, managed to squeeze in dinner with one of my sisters before boarding my plane home and arriving back to my own bed at midnight.
occasion.
My big client arrived the next day for our strat planning for the year, started back at work the day after, so I've been overflowing.
My date........will be in my next installment....interesting.

h2