The things that connect us and the night we lost my Oma
April 2022
As we approach one year since we lost her - my mother’s mother, my Oma, the kindest woman I’ve ever known - I’m remembering a journal entry I wrote last May. So, I’ve dusted it off and given it a polish. As the late afternoon light streams into my flat, Leif Vollebekk playing on my little speaker, and a glass of red wine in hand; I’m finally ready to share this.
—
May 2021
Most of the time, I’m acutely aware of how far I am from my family. Whether it’s their milestones that remind me, or my big moments that happen while they’re fast asleep. At this time of year, the days here are getting progressively shorter and colder, while back home, the ice is melting and my loved ones are emerging excitedly from their cozy cocoons like the first buds blossoming in spring. Our watches tell different times, our seasons opposite, and our lives more separate than ever before. But I have never felt farther away in any moment than the night we lost her.
It was night time for me, the wee hours of the morning for them. The virtual conversations that had sustained us for my first three years in New Zealand now felt utterly insufficient. What I would’ve given to squeeze her hand once last time.
I surprised myself because I didn’t cry at first. It was almost as through I’d reached a level of profound sadness that transcended tears. But once they began, they were nearly impossible to stop. I didn’t even try.
And then a knock came at the door. A man stood at my gate holding a bouquet of flowers fit for a queen. The first were from Sarah, but they kept coming. Courtney, Holly, Alyssa and Trent. They’d each selected a different florist in Wellington and my home quickly filled with flowers. Within 24 hours, there wasn’t a surface left without a colourful arrangement. She would’ve loved to see it. I’d like to think she did see it.
The next morning when I stepped into the kitchen to make my morning coffee, I looked around, and suddenly I didn’t feel quite as far away.
And in the distance, there was a rainbow.
Photo by Alex Browne