On dealing with loss and change

It's been a crazy few years.  First came Covid, and we had to learn and adapt.  And just as we started to get the hang of the pandemic we had unprecedented flooding in Auckland - unlike anything seen in mine, or even my parents, lifetimes.  Just over a week later, Cyclone Gabrielle tore through the North Island of Aotearoa, destroying our whenua.  Displacing 10,000 people and countless animals from their homes.

It's difficult to quantify the loss.

Damage near our local awa in Henderson - the log and silt aren't usually there

How I feel right now is heavy.  Bone deep tired. 

But I also feel gratitude.  Not only to have personally come out unscathed, but to see the level of whanaungatanga within our local communities.  The flooding was so sudden here it was difficult to process, but people started helping each other from the minute they realised how serious this was.  When I went to drop clothes around to our closest drop-in centre so many items of clothing and bedding had already been donated there wasn't room for more.  I asked what was still needed and bought some of those items to drop off instead.  Many people I've spoken to did the same.  We do not live in a wealthy area but we live in an area where people will give the shirts from their backs. 

We live in an area rich in aroha.  It is humbling to witness this during times like these.

Flooding in Wairoa after Cyclone Gabrielle

Processing what has happened locally has been difficult enough, but the impact of Cyclone Gabrielle on Hawke's Bay is hard to fathom.  Having seen the damage in our own backyard - the silted walkways, the downed fences and uprooted trees, and having spoken to those who have lost so much, I have some idea.  But here it's not all our fences.  We have not all lost our homes.  The level of loss in Esk Valley is immense.  The footage is hard to watch not because we want to ignore it, but because we feel the pain of thousands.  I know they will recover from this, but right now it feels overwhelming.

The physical level of recovery will take decades.  Not just to return our whenua to a healthier state, but to put infrastructure in place to ensure this level of destruction doesn't happen again.  Our local councils needs to revisit water management systems.  They need to look at increase housing levels more sustainably.  They need to reconsider flood-plains management.  We need to assess our rules around forestry slash.  And we need to plant more trees.  Not just to replace the thousands we've lost to the floods and cyclones, but to help manage the level of future flooding.  We have shortsightedly cut down too many trees to put in housing.  Planning and putting in these trees will take time.  And trees take time to grow.

As do kumara.

While the most recent series of climate events has truly rocked our confidence in the familiar, they are by no means the first events.  The biggest reason for the rising costs of fresh fruit and vegetables in Aotearoa is climate change.

It wasn't so long ago that Auckland suffered one of its most severe droughts in recorded history.  In February 2020 Auckland broke the record for the most days recorded without rain - it did not rain for 40 days*.  The impacts of a drought don't just effect our produce - they impact the wellness of our livestock, which in turn effects the prices of dairy, lamb and beef as the season renders lower yields than anticipated.  And there are many, many other industries affected which impacts pricing of groceries.

Many are happy to complain about the rising cost of living.  Many are happy to blame this on the government.  But just as many still seem uncomfortable connecting this cost with climate change.  That this is to be expected.  That we should have started preparing for this a long time ago.

But in fairness that preparation is hard because changing how we do things is hard.  For many, it's incomprehensible.  We know this from the recent freedom rallies.  I believe change is hardest for those at extremes - for those constantly negotiating change due to circumstance and those who are seldom required to change.

Foraged from the local bush supermarket

Even for me - a person very used to adapting to change - managing this constant state of flux isn't easy.  Growing up poor, moving house a lot, living in isolated places are all conducive to learning how to adapt.  Having this experience and knowledge is a blessing in times like these, but change still takes a toll.

Like I said before, I'm tired.

I'm tired of being a responsible adult.  Of ensuring we have plans A, B and C in place and set to go.  Of thinking of which documents I have yet to photograph and store on the portable hard drive in the grab bag.  I'm tired of reassuring our kids after the emergency mobile alert goes off on my phone.

Honestly, there are days I just want to quit adulting and curl up with a bag of Burger Rings.

And I feel so much guilt for feeling like this.  Because others have lost literally everything.  And these are not just faces on the TV these are people in my community.  I have workmates whose homes have flooded.  I have customers who've shown me footage of the flood waters completely covering the area around their homes.  The worst our household suffered was a three hour power cut.  We are truly lucky.

But I am trying to work through that guilt.

Because while we have been extremely lucky, we have still suffered a loss.

A small cabbage tree from a local park ripped from the ground

I believe regardless of circumstance, most of those living in the affected areas have suffered a loss.  My mother, who was driving during the flood, has lost her sense of confidence with driving.  She gets noticeably anxious when the rain starts to get heavier.  My cousin, who's wedding was the weekend after Cyclone Gabrielle hit had to sit with the knowledge that the roads north may not be open in time for anyone to attend.  We did not see our resident ducks for over a week.  I thought they had all drowned***.  I see people most days for whom there's been little direct impact, but their nervous disposition, their desperation to talk about the flooding with anyone, is a clear response to trauma.

These losses are not the same as the loss of a family member or a home.  But they are still losses.  And they still leave a mark.

What I think we need is a massive tangi. A space where we can collectively voice our grief.  Where we can mourn our losses whether it's an uprooted favourite tree, access to our local gym, or our lost tomato crops.  Where we can share our fears for the future, for our children and our communities.  Where we can wail and beat our chests and admit that it's ok to feel scared.  It's ok to feel sad.  It's ok not to have all of the answers.

Because maybe if we acknowledge that pain, we can start working through it.  Through knowing our pain we can work through our fear and then maybe we can start coming up with some solutions.

And maybe we'll feel less tired.

The day some of our visiting ducks returned home.  We were beyond thankful

* Not all of Auckland - we definitely had a very light rain at our place around the 30 day mark - but less than 1mm of rainfall in a day is still considered to be 'dry'.

** We are not in that position currently.  We are extremely fortunate in that respect.  But I know I can do it if I need to.

*** Thankfully, this wasn't the case [we've only lost a few] but it was very upsetting at the time.