Tommy Kapai: World changed forever at 2.07am

Sunday morning at 2.07 will be the moment when I can talk to Mum, knowing she will come to me and tell me, like she always has, that everything will be all right.

We all have our 9/11 moments when we have lost a loved one and life becomes dramatically different for reasons you can't even begin to work out at the time, and for those who have lost their mother, as we did at 2.07 last Sunday morning, life will never be the same again.

Everything has changed after the passing of our Mum and I don't know when, or if, it will be the same again. I was told recently that having your first child and losing your Mum changes your life forever, and I now know that to be true.

One week on and the numbness of the loss remains the same. Even more so at 2.07 this morning, when I watched and I waited for a sign, any sign, to say that time will in fact heal the hurt that you carry when you lose your Mum.

Many of you will have known my Mum through the 500 columns I have written over the last decade. Many of you will have walked with me and my family the last days of her journey as she was surrounded with whanau and friends on the banks of the Wairoa River at Waipuna Hospice.

For your kind and caring thoughts, the cards and the koha you have given, we as a family would like to thank you all, especially the Awhi Angels at the Waipuna Hospice who cared for Mum in her final days.

We will sing your praises each and every day we drive past your whare o rongo.

Mum gave us - her 11 children - 600 years of life and has given her 60-plus mokopuna many hundreds more. She was our rock, our Mauao, who sheltered us under the safety of her korowai of kindness, when times were too tough to face on our own.

She was loving and loyal and treated us all as her favourite. Even in death she was able to heal broken hearts and reconcile relationships that seemed too far gone to fix.

Mum was loyal to her own in a way that has left us with a legacy to learn from and follow in her footsteps.

Deja vu moments with Mum come up on the remembrance radar all the time this last week. In her garden, at the local dairy, driving past the hospice, or looking across the road to the cafe where she and my sister would share lunch on a Thursday, brings back the boohoo.

Even writing this column right now, the baby wipes of my moko Ariana, left behind when they left to fly home last night, are a godsend when holding back the tears and the floodgates of boo juice open up.

Just when you think you have your mother moment under control you meet a friend or a whanau member who knows exactly what you are going through, and the emotional rollercoaster clicks off another ticket and you are back freefalling into a sea of sadness - with them.

For me and for how I face life today without Mum is all about taking life as it comes one day at a time, and the small pockets of happiness that show up each day since 2.07 last Sunday morning are toanga.

Precious gifts that fill the void of an almost empty - and a sadly broken - heart.

A sliver of sunlight that warms my back or the giggle of a grandchild are gifts in times of intense sadness, as is a boil-up or a bob each way sent on a silver chord by those we miss most. Waking up at 2.07 on a Sunday morning will be the norm for me for some time. It will be my 9/11 moment when I can talk to Mum in the quietness and the confidence of knowing she will come to me and tell me, like she always has, that everything will be all right.

We keep holding on to the memories and we wait for the healer of time to come calling.

If ever there was a word I can leave in this column it is to those of you who still have your Mums. Make every excuse to spend time with them, because it is these times that will fill your memory vaults of magic moments when they are gone.

They will cover your broken heart with a korowai of aroha that no-one prepares you for when the time comes to say goodbye.

Moe mai ra, Mum - sail along the silvery moon.

broblack@xtra.co.nz