This is dedicated to the people of Christchurch who lost their lives, and to their families. Currently the death count is 148 and rising, with hundreds still missing. My heart and prayers go out to them.
When the earth shook Christchurch seven days ago I was sitting next to my boxing coach Adam, chatting away, stretching, getting ready for class. Without warning, the city went from calm to chaos in seconds. The ceiling tiles started falling, the long, fluorescent light bulbs exploded over our heads. Adam grabbed my arm roughly and we dashed for the doorway, arms over our heads, legs unable to balance on the rolling floor, as if it were made of ice. The receptionist at the desk screamed as a giant bookshelf fell over, nearly crushing her. I tripped and tumbled my way into the small space between the two doors, now holding about twelve of us and prayed for the shaking to end.
I heard later that it had lasted 40-50 seconds and I can say with certainty that it was the scariest minute of my life. Once the rumbling stopped and we all started breathing again, it took time to stand up and get over the shock of the experience. Small bursts of hysteric laughter filled the room and we knew we were lucky to be alive. Quickly we left the building, everyone grabbing their phones to try to make contact with their loved ones. I tried frantically to get in touch with Pete, knowing he could have been high up on scaffolding, but all lines were dead. All electricity down. All water off.
Within minutes the streets were jammed with cars trying to get home to see if their house was still up and their families safe. Luckily I was on my bike and it was easier to navigate through the traffic, large cracks and holes, piles of rubble and liquefaction: giant mounds of mud and sand that came out of the earth through the pavement. I remember being amazed at the damage but also at the efficiency of the police, fire department and many others who were instantly on scene, commanding order from insanity.
Once at home I joined my neighbors in the confusion. A man walked by with a radio to tell us that the 6.3 earthquake had taken down the cathedral, the symbol and soul of the city. A woman near me started to cry. Another car pulled up with news that the city centre had crumbled and that many people had died, the first deaths since the wave of earthquakes hitting Christchurch began in September. More news, more rumors, more stories circled us, but I didn't start breathing again until I saw Pete turning the corner and biking towards me in one piece. Only then did I allow myself to cry.
As the days have dragged on, all we can do is wait. We got electricity back late Tuesday night, and when the lights popped on cheers and applause erupted from up and down the street. Phones and internet started working again Wednesday afternoon, and every day I've been busy boiling what water we can get hold of. Every night we watch the news, watch the death toll rising, watch the city suffering and we know how good we truly have it.
The good news and hope lay with the people of Christchurch. Hours after the quake thousands streamed to streets asking what they could do to help. Everyone was hugging, helping, giving all that they had, bonding together in this great tragedy. News of disaster response teams coming in from Australia, The UK, The States, Singapore, Taiwan and Japan. Stories of ordinary citizens going extraordinary lengths to help out their neighbors. A man with a well in the suburbs has been pumping 90,000 litres of water a day for thousands. A facebook group formed and received 12,000 volunteers to help clean the streets, shovel liquefaction off the roads and go door-to-door in some areas offering whatever assistance was needed.
All of these stories have been a real inspiration and a real tribute to the people of Christchurch, and of New Zealand. The strength and heart of this small island nation in the face of devastation and pain shows what they are really made of, and what is possible when humanity comes together and gives for the greater good of all. This alone gives me hope for the future.
People of Christchurch: I thank you. My thoughts are continually with you.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
In Piam Memoriam
I'd like to start by saying "Thank you" to everyone that came here today. It's been a really difficult week for Pete and I, and your loving support is much appreciated. The death of a close friend is never easy, and in these trying times I feel it's best to be surrounded by my loved ones. So once again, thank you for being here. I will try my best not to cry.
We are here today to honor the life of Captain Archibald Jack Cooper. He was a most loyal van, and yet I like to think of him more as a friend and family member. Although I didn't know him for very long he was always there for me. There to pick me up at the airport when I came back to New Zealand, there to drive us to our new life in Christchurch, there when I needed a hug or someone to talk to. He was always a good listener.
I wish I could tell you more about his past which I'm sure was as rowdy and adventurous as his last days, but all I know is that we adopted him from Mr. John Cooper, Pete's brother, who is to be commended for all the hard work, time, effort and love he put in with The Captain. John is a mechanic and although it seemed the end for Old Arch he refused to pull the plug on his dear friend. Archie's engine was rebuilt, along with multiple other surgeries, to give the Ole Fella another chance to feel the wind on his face as he trundled, gasped and wheezed his way through the mountains once again.
To me, Capt. Arch was not only a friend but a symbol of freedom. We drove up and down the length of the South Island together. He went with us up to the beaches of Kaiteriteri and Nelson, down through the mountains in the Southern Alps, along the eastern coastlines, and navigated us through the city of Christchurch, knowing that we would be lost without him. And now we are.
I look to the Universe for some answers and some peace. It tells me that everyone has their destined time on this Earth, and well, Archie was no spring chicken. He passed away driving back from Queenstown, and I bettcha he couldn't have been happier. Full tank of gas, new oil and a wide-open road, long as the eye can see. Before we knew there was something wrong he just lost power and came to a stop on the side of the highway with a nice, loud thud: his last hoorah before passing into the Land of the Unknown.
As a parting joke, Archie left us about 20 km. north of a town called Twizel, just past Lake Pukaki. For all who don't know, Twizel is more of a village in the middle of nowhere. Population: 1,200 occupants. Pete and I hitched a ride into town and walked over to the one pub in town, banking on Small Town Kiwi Hospitality to get us out of this mess before the sun set. Not much luck there, but we did find some friendly and helpful people at Shawty's, the one restaurant in town. After hearing our story, Troy the owner left his full restaurant to drive us to his house, switch cars and get a tow rope, drive out to get The Captain and tow him back into town, dropping us off in front of the mechanic's shop. All without taking any money or beer offered.
Saint Troy of Twizel, you are an Angel of Compassion for Poor Travelers. Thank you.
The next morning we got up and found Russel the Mechanic. He takes a look at poor Arch, shows Pete the blown head gasket and where water got into the cylinders, and signs the Death Certificate for 9:15 am, Tuesday, February 8th, 2011. Unless we have $1,300 to fix him. We do not. Russel offers us $50 to take him off our hands, committing his soul to the High Heavens and his parts as an Organ Donor to other sick and dying vehicles.
The next part in this tragedy involves me sweet-talking a bus driver into driving out of the way with a bus filled with people over to our van, loading up half of our life, and taking us to Christchurch. In this includes Pete's BMX bike, my snowboard, a single mattress, our bags from the weekend, an assortment of tools, snow chains, cooking pots, helmets, shoes, a tea kettle, a skateboard, and a box of beer. After seeing out tired and stressed expressions the driver, in true Kiwi Hospitality, doesn't even charge us for all the extra space we're using. Once in Christchurch we re-load into a taxi and head for home, too exhausted to even comprehend our loss.
What now? It hasn't been easy to cope with our grief, and learning to live with our loss has been a challenge this week. Archie's death teaches us to cherish the time we have with our loved ones now. Right now. "In Piam Memoriam" means "In Loving Memory," and that is why we are here today: to remember Captain Archibald Jack Cooper in our heads and in our hearts.
To end this, I'd like to quote Kahlil Gibran in his poem "Death":
"For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance."
Dance, Archie, dance. And know that you will be missed.
We are here today to honor the life of Captain Archibald Jack Cooper. He was a most loyal van, and yet I like to think of him more as a friend and family member. Although I didn't know him for very long he was always there for me. There to pick me up at the airport when I came back to New Zealand, there to drive us to our new life in Christchurch, there when I needed a hug or someone to talk to. He was always a good listener.
I wish I could tell you more about his past which I'm sure was as rowdy and adventurous as his last days, but all I know is that we adopted him from Mr. John Cooper, Pete's brother, who is to be commended for all the hard work, time, effort and love he put in with The Captain. John is a mechanic and although it seemed the end for Old Arch he refused to pull the plug on his dear friend. Archie's engine was rebuilt, along with multiple other surgeries, to give the Ole Fella another chance to feel the wind on his face as he trundled, gasped and wheezed his way through the mountains once again.
To me, Capt. Arch was not only a friend but a symbol of freedom. We drove up and down the length of the South Island together. He went with us up to the beaches of Kaiteriteri and Nelson, down through the mountains in the Southern Alps, along the eastern coastlines, and navigated us through the city of Christchurch, knowing that we would be lost without him. And now we are.
I look to the Universe for some answers and some peace. It tells me that everyone has their destined time on this Earth, and well, Archie was no spring chicken. He passed away driving back from Queenstown, and I bettcha he couldn't have been happier. Full tank of gas, new oil and a wide-open road, long as the eye can see. Before we knew there was something wrong he just lost power and came to a stop on the side of the highway with a nice, loud thud: his last hoorah before passing into the Land of the Unknown.
As a parting joke, Archie left us about 20 km. north of a town called Twizel, just past Lake Pukaki. For all who don't know, Twizel is more of a village in the middle of nowhere. Population: 1,200 occupants. Pete and I hitched a ride into town and walked over to the one pub in town, banking on Small Town Kiwi Hospitality to get us out of this mess before the sun set. Not much luck there, but we did find some friendly and helpful people at Shawty's, the one restaurant in town. After hearing our story, Troy the owner left his full restaurant to drive us to his house, switch cars and get a tow rope, drive out to get The Captain and tow him back into town, dropping us off in front of the mechanic's shop. All without taking any money or beer offered.
Saint Troy of Twizel, you are an Angel of Compassion for Poor Travelers. Thank you.
The next morning we got up and found Russel the Mechanic. He takes a look at poor Arch, shows Pete the blown head gasket and where water got into the cylinders, and signs the Death Certificate for 9:15 am, Tuesday, February 8th, 2011. Unless we have $1,300 to fix him. We do not. Russel offers us $50 to take him off our hands, committing his soul to the High Heavens and his parts as an Organ Donor to other sick and dying vehicles.
The next part in this tragedy involves me sweet-talking a bus driver into driving out of the way with a bus filled with people over to our van, loading up half of our life, and taking us to Christchurch. In this includes Pete's BMX bike, my snowboard, a single mattress, our bags from the weekend, an assortment of tools, snow chains, cooking pots, helmets, shoes, a tea kettle, a skateboard, and a box of beer. After seeing out tired and stressed expressions the driver, in true Kiwi Hospitality, doesn't even charge us for all the extra space we're using. Once in Christchurch we re-load into a taxi and head for home, too exhausted to even comprehend our loss.
What now? It hasn't been easy to cope with our grief, and learning to live with our loss has been a challenge this week. Archie's death teaches us to cherish the time we have with our loved ones now. Right now. "In Piam Memoriam" means "In Loving Memory," and that is why we are here today: to remember Captain Archibald Jack Cooper in our heads and in our hearts.
To end this, I'd like to quote Kahlil Gibran in his poem "Death":
"For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance."
Dance, Archie, dance. And know that you will be missed.
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