It has been 30 years, but for some the horror of November 13, 1990 will never fade. Daisy Hudson spoke to Aramoana survivor Julie-Anne Tamati about fear, grief, and learning to forgive.
In her darkest moments, Julie-Anne Tamati would wake up and write herself a list.
"Get up. Have a shower. Eat food. Go to the garden."
Breaking her day into simple, bite-sized tasks helped her cope with the grief and guilt that has been her shadow since the murder of her adopted daughter and partner.
Rewa Bryson, 11, and Garry Holden were among the 13 people killed at Aramoana on November 13, 1990 in a mass shooting that, three decades on, seems utterly incomprehensible.
Julie-Anne, whose last name was then Bryson, is now 67. She still vividly remembers the day her family was cruelly taken away.
It was hot. Families were fishing, riding bikes, and enjoying a sunny afternoon in the sleepy Otago village.
Rewa, and Garry's daughters Jasmine, 11, and Chiquita, 9, hopped off the school bus and went around to Julie-Anne's Moana St house.
Garry called round and the family had dinner together, before he, Jasmine and Rewa returned to his house in Muri St. They had all planned to go for a bike ride, but Rewa's handlebars needed fixing.
Chiquita stayed behind, helping Julie-Anne with the dishes before asking if she could stay the night.
She sent her to her father's to ask permission.
When Chiquita returned, the nightmare started.
She ran inside, bleeding from shotgun wounds to her arm and stomach.
David Gray had shot at them, she said.
"I was just shocked . . . I got a towel, and rang an ambulance, and put her in the van."
As they left Moana St, they saw two young boys out on the road on their bikes.
She told them to go to their grandad's, her next-door neighbour.
She never saw the boys again. They would later be found among the dead.
As she drove her van to Garry's house, which had been set on fire with Jasmine and Rewa inside, Gray started firing at her from a grass verge.
Bullets pierced the side of the van, somehow failing to hit either of them.
"I think I had some angels looking after us."
Luckily, she says, she never saw Garry's body, which was lying nearby.
She remembers Chiquita, wounded and screaming, begging her to get them out of there.
"My instinct was just to go and get the girls.
"Children believe that a house is a safe place to be. I think they hid under a table when David came in."
She had to make the heartbreaking decision to keep driving, to get herself and Chiquita to safety, and to leave the rest of her family behind.
"It's not something you can logically think, it was just survival mode."
It's something she still feels guilty about.
She sped back to Moana St, where she told a neighbour to call the police.
As they waited, she spoke to people who were hearing the shots and seeing smoke from the burning house.
"In a small community; it was like 'you go and help', and that's when a lot of people got killed."
Later, Sergeant Stu Guthrie drove past in his police car. She tried to get him to stop, but he did not.
He would later be shot and killed as he tried to take Gray into custody.
"I blame myself, in that illogical kind of way. You know, if only I'd been able to stop him and tell what had been happening."
Eventually someone drove Julie-Anne and Chiquita to a roadblock that had been set up, and they were both taken to hospital.
It was not until the next day that her worst fears were confirmed. Rewa, Jasmine and Garry were dead.
In the weeks following, every time she woke up in the morning the reality would hit her.
"I can remember going to town and buying a teddy bear for Chiquita, who was in hospital . . . and walking out to the main street and there were just people and cars going by, and it was like 'Stop! My world's stopped', but people were going on with their lives.
"But for me it was like everything had just come to a standstill."
In the years since, she has tried to move on.
She forgave Gray, going so far as to plant daffodils at the section where his house once stood.
It was difficult for people to understand that, she says.
"I've always felt that forgiveness is something that stops you from carrying it through the rest of your life.
"I've always felt that he was a troubled soul . . . he was mentally unwell."
She even contacted his family in the aftermath of the shootings.
"They were in a terrible situation where they couldn't openly grieve because the community and people were just really angry at them and angry at David."
As the 30th anniversary of the tragedy approaches, she wonders what Rewa would be like now.
Would the shy tomboy with a great sense of humour be just like her older sister and brothers?
She would have been 41.
Instead, if you wander down a little path beside where Garry's house once was, you will see her name among 13 etched on a memorial created for the victims.
At its base are shells, coloured stones, flowers, and a pair of teddy bears.
Julie-Anne lives in Blackball on the West Coast now. She has a quiet, happy life with her dogs.
She still keeps in touch with Chiquita, the little girl she once treated like her own.
"I love her dearly, and I've watched her grow into a wonderful adult."
Like Chiquita, she has spent much of her life working with victims, including more than a decade at Rape Crisis.
"I've always said, rather than be a victim, I'm a survivor."