A goodbye brought Matariki to me.

A winter good bye. A tragically unexpected goodbye.

I was a mama. Or due to be.
Our first baby. A full term healthy pregnancy. A naturally starting labour…

… then …

… A baby in trouble. A mishmash of care. An urgent situation. A body pushing to birth, but now trouble finding a heartbeat. A baby boy born. A resuscitation while so much hope held in my heart. A baby never taking a breath.
An unthinkable goodbye.

The lack of sleep during labour caused an exhausted numbness, a masked clarity. The shock and grief didn’t register until dawn the following morning. Waking and remembering, overwhelmed by the reality, that it wasn’t a dream. Desperately reaching for my sleeping partner, clawing my way out of the panic, crying together. Hearts broken. There was a feeling of if we didn’t hold each other, that we might just dissolve into grief and float away.

Whanau came straight away. The thought of their urgent and long drives to reach us, already knowing the heartbreak, is hard to think about. But they all came, taking care of our every need. The small acts were huge acts. Remembered fondly as blessing amongst grief.

We were blessed to bring our son home for a couple of days. To create memories adore his perfect features, and take photos. Then, another goodbye. Turning from ash to light. Driving to the crematorium and  witnessing out the window, life continuing as normal. How could that be when my world had stopped?

Those very early days were  intensely hard, like nothing I’ve experienced before. Yet there was also a sense that these motions of goodbye were not just for us. We were all grieving. For us the real, hard, times would be when they were all gone, in the quiet moments. In the returning to ‘real life’ – work, chores, all too soon, all too empty. Making meals to feed an empty body that still did all the things it was supposed to after it had birthed a baby. Longing was ever present. Deep grief would tearfully empty, daily, then clear space back to truth, to love. Again, blessing amongst the grief.

I had no tolerance for trivial conversations, life had been stripped away to it’s core. All of non importance fell away and I only wanted to speak and listen to meaningful talk – tell me: What makes your heart ache? What makes your heart soar? A life searching for meaning amongst the unthinkable.

Matariki and grief

Dawn wakes were common. Gazing out the window before the sun’s light. Searching stars, finding comfort in the daily presence of a particularly bright star (in fact, a planet). A connection to life beyond ours. Matariki awareness had been on the periphery of my world, but now rose a burning desire to understand: What is Matariki?

And so reading, seeking, reading, listening, and meaningful connection began.

It included alignment with the seasons. A year coming to a close. Drawing inward and reflection over winter months. A new year beginning, at a time that makes sense. Planning for the year. Observing seasons. Planting trees. Giving thanks, giving back. Stories. Wananga. Coming together. And remembering loved ones who have passed.

Pōhutukawa, the Matariki star of remembrance

It was much later that I learned of the specific attributes of each Matariki star. The Matariki cluster contains 9 stars which we look to around certain aspects of our environment and our lives.

It felt like a gift to learn of the star Pōhutukawa, who we look to as we remember those who have passed in the past year. At the first sighting of Matariki, the names of passed loved ones are spoken to release them to Pōhutukawa, to the stars, to the universe. Making kai, we greet Matariki at dawn, and offer the steam from warmed food as a nod, an offering, to the stars.

Each year our family bring our own rituals to this winter space. Honouring this special time through Winter Solstice, Solomon’s birthday/passing, and Matariki. In our home they are all wrapped up in an extended tradition. A season. Honouring the dark and the light, the seasons and the wondrous world reaching to universe. We do activities to bring mindful reverence to our days. Making candles, lantern walks, making nature mandala, dawn beach outings to view Matariki, fire nights, karakia, friendship soup, soulful waiata, crafts with tamariki. This collection of rituals, of celebration holds my son close. In each act, there are thoughts of him. Matariki and grief transforms to Matariki and reverence.

Matariki traditions endure

As life went on the intense grief became less potent. Two more children, ‘rainbow babies’ after the storm, helped with some healing. But it was still a process. The daily walks, releasing cries, and journal writing was where the work to acceptance, to honouring, as opposed to grieving began to change. 12 years on, our traditions solidly remain. They are treasured. We can so easily be right back there, to that day of goodbye, in our memories. But following those dark days, light again emerges. A start to a new year.

There are many gifts in grief. Grief and blessings are undeniably interwoven. Matariki and grief laid foundations for the reverence that is a strong force in my life.

And Matariki embraces all these honourings in a more seasonally aligned new year, fitting for the Southern Hemisphere.
When Matariki rises, we honour the memories of all those who have passed.

It has taken me years to write and share these connections of Matariki and grief online – it is a deeply intimate share, a dear love, a sacred loss. Yet I share as I also remember how reading other stories of loss felt so meaningful in those dark days.

I’m sorry for your loss. I wish you sacred, meaningful moments as your heart grieves and heals. Aroha from my heart to yours.

Tina xx

Here are more resources you may like to know about:

Make sure you check out these Matariki celebration ideas, or consider some of these activities to remember loved ones at Matariki.

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