Taking a walk..

Last Sunday, I resumed my walking. I woke just before the sun rose and decided to head off. I wanted to walk up to Waikumete Cemetery. It is uphill from our place and I hoped to be there in time to see the view of the sun rising over our part of this city.

It was cold, around 8 degrees. As the cold air hit my skin and my eyes watered, I felt full of energy. There was no one else around. I felt like I owned the neighbourhood. I even managed to jog a bit of the way, spurred on by this energy and my desire to beat the sunrise.

I went in the bottom entrance of the cemetery, an area set aside for WWI soldiers. I was still thinking about The War Tapes and the futility of war. I took time to look at some of the grave sites and read some of the names. So many young men.

The cemetery was quiet and the air very still. There was a slight frost, unusual for Auckland, on the grassed areas. Still no sign of other people out walking, jogging or taking their dogs for a stroll. I was deeply moved as I read the names and the water spurting from my eyes was now not only the result of the cold morning air. I was thinking of all the families who sons, brothers, fathers, cousins were laid to rest here, as the result of war. I was feeling frustrated at the senselessness of it all. Such a waste. All of these people.

The sun was trying to force its ways through the cool morning air. I walked up the hill a bit further to a point where I had a view of Kelston falling away towards the flat, towards the estuary. I took in the view and then slowly turned around and headed up towards a large Pohutakawa tree with the narrow shaft of sunlight on my back.

The tree was huge and the sun cast my shadow on its wide trunk. There was complete silence. There was nothing else but me, the tree and my shadow. For just one split second, as I looked at my shadow on the tree, I had a sense of Shelley’s shadow, as a little child, hand in hand with me. I could feel her little hand in mine. The two of us there, safe and saved in the tree. It was quite beautiful.

I knew if I turned away, turned around Shelley wouldn’t be there. I knew it wasn’t that moment that we had had, laughing and giggling at our shadows. The delight a child takes in realizing they have a shadow, that they can make it dance and move. That it is them.

Sometimes grief hits with a physicality that is indescribable.

Both experiences were running in my head at the same time. I was transfixed to the spot, juggling both realities. The beauty of the present moment, like a secret door into the past, together with the knowledge that Shelley was not there. That Shelley was dead. The impact was like a punch in the gut. My tears flowed uncontrollably. It was a moment, one of those moments that are precious, fragile and painful. It felt magical and beautiful at the same time. I stayed in it and held it for as long as I could. I stopped it when I sensed the beginning of an almighty scream, of a weeping and wailing that I knew, once set free would engulf me.

I turned away from the tree and faced the sun. I shut my eyes, breathed in the cold air and held Shelley with every cell of my body and mind until I was peaceful again.

After a while, I walked on. Down a dip, up a hill and rounded another corner. I was taken with a small area of graves with amazing structures on them. The grassed area was still frosty and a light mist hung in the air as if protecting them. I approached and realized the structures were things like dolls’ houses, toys, amazing montages of babies toys. The headstones showed life spans of a day, birth dates and death dates the same. These families hadn’t had the privilege of getting to know their children, of having them in their lives for any length of time. They would have had so much hope and joy for their lives. There is no right time for the death of a child. I left them with some of my tears.

By the time I walked out into the streets again, the city had awakened. There were cars everywhere dashing up and down the hill. People out running as opposed to my jogging and uphill as well!. I gave them the Kelston hello, (two raised eyebrows) and made my way home. Those precious moments, the unexpected awareness and emotions had given me a sense of grounding. I had stopped holding my breath, stopped being on guard for my grief and walked into the reality of my life. This was not a bad thing.

Arohanui
KG