During World War II my dad served with the 28th Maori Battalion D Company. He was plagued by night terrors and migraines due to bullet shrapnel lodged in his temple. Eventually dementia took over. When he started forgetting the names of his children, we all knew that he didn’t have much time left with us.
I wanted Dad to live with us but there was a constant fear he would fall and hurt himself. Although I’d promised not to send him away; for his safety we agreed to place him in Gracelands elderly home. The decision weighed heavily on my heart.
One day Dad said, ‘Kōtiro, will you come and scratch my back?’ When I pulled up his top, his back was absolutely pango, I knew it was wairuatanga, a spiritual energy and I trusted it. I immediately phoned the nurse and insisted she check his bloods; the tests came back with cancer. It was throughout his shoulders and back. When dad got worse, a clinical caregiver suggested limited visits from whānau, but we knew that being around as family, was better for him. Dad couldn’t come home so we brought home to Dad. He was always surrounded by mokopuna, laughter, karakia, waiata and rugby. Giving Dad the aroha and manaakitanga he needed in the last days of his life, allowed him to peacefully travel through the veil. I know dad passed away happy. I know that putting him in the elderly home was the right thing to do. But I also know it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.