Observed

Im happy to say that after some confusion, I got home to find Seb here already yesterday and the news his dad had been flown home to Auckland and admitted to the Neuro ward of Auckland Hospital. It was a bright spark in a strange period of time for us.

One of the downfalls however of being the person in the waiting room, is, you are with all the other people waiting for something, or someone, or an outcome, or a decision. I spent 2 hours observing a family living out my worst nightmare, their boy had been run over by a car and he had a terrible brain injury. Sebs brother knew one of the whanau, and he told us this boy who I assumed was a teenager, was not expected to live, they were going to turn off the machines and wait for him to die.

It seemed almost surreal. His parents sat surrounded by loved ones, I could only decide this was day one of many, not day one of hope. I could not imagine coming to the slow realisation as I watched these parents do that their beloved child was not going to wake up and that even though he was still breathing, they had to prepare to bury him. His mother and sisters talked positively of the best clothes to dress him in, what he liked, an aunt stood behind the mother and gently carressed her hair, a man sat with his arm round the father in solidarity. The mother shifted in and out of calm and disbelief. An older Kuia talked about organising a kai for everybody. Enmasse they filed back into the ward, and slowly, one by one, emerged silent and weeping.

I've experienced the death of a partner, but I don't think I would have the heart to lose a child. I cried when we walked back to the car, much to Sebs distress. As if to press this point home, the phone rang at about 11pm, and I thought it would be Dad, it was Kenji's mother. I know, from experience, that this is usually not a good thing. 3 years on the pain of her loss is still raw as a fresh cut, and she spent 2 hours crying her pain into the telephone. I don't think I ever want to know what that feels like.