Landslide tragedy and the stranger’s handmade rings of grief - Opinion

When the world feels uncertain, love still looks for somewhere to go, writes Lifang Chen. Photo / Sandra Conchie

I noticed the rings first.

They were on all 10 of her fingers, and on some fingers there were two. None of them matched. The colours were different, the textures uneven. They were not made from precious materials, yet nothing about them felt accidental. They looked as though they had been made slowly, one at a time.

I was at work when I met her. She was visiting Rotorua from the United Kingdom, stopping briefly as part of her travels. As we spoke, my eyes kept returning to her hands.

I told her how special the rings were.

She explained calmly that she was always looking for different materials to work with. She wore rings on every finger because each one was a different size. A thumb and a little finger are never the same. Some of the rings, she added, could be adjusted.

Then she said something I did not expect.

If I liked them, I could take one. More than one, if I wished.

I hesitated.

“These rings are meant to be given away,” she said.

After her son died, she told me, she began making them. Wherever she travelled, she gave the rings to strangers. Over time, she had made and passed on hundreds. She hoped to continue for as long as she could, so the rings could keep moving from hand to hand.

She did not speak further about her son, and I did not ask. Some stories do not need to be opened to be understood. All I could say was that I was sorry for her loss.

In the end, I chose a ring made from copper wire.

Later, I noticed that one of my colleagues was wearing a ring as well.

I still keep mine.

At the time, it felt like a small, private thing. I did not think much of it.

This summer, New Zealand has felt unsettled. Heat was followed by sudden rain. Floods and landslides swept across the country. Cars were carried away. Homes were damaged. A camping trip in Tauranga, not far from Rotorua, that was meant for rest ended in tragedy.

Moments like these arrive quietly, without explanation.

People respond in different ways. Some light candles. Some leave flowers. Others weave crosses from New Zealand flax and place them in remembrance. Small signs appear and remain. Pictures, toys, pinwheels. Marks left where lives were interrupted.

That quiet gesture stays with me.

A colleague mentioned something recently. He and his wife had been in Rotorua for a while, moving from place to place, before finally settling into a new rental. Just a month earlier, the woman who later lost her life in the landslide had handed them the keys herself.

It was a reminder of how suddenly life can turn.

There is no single way to respond.

The woman from the United Kingdom chose a different way to remember. She made rings by hand and gave them to strangers, passing on the love she still carried for her son, allowing it to move gently from one person to another.

Flowers were placed again and again by the roadside, and a simple handmade ring passed from one stranger to another. Different gestures, shaped by different losses, yet driven by the same need.

When the world feels uncertain, love still looks for somewhere to go.

Sometimes, it finds its way into our hands.

And we hold on.