Tiny Stories

There are two other celebrants in the room, as guests settle into their seats, music playing gently in the background. One sits in the front row, just an arm’s reach away. He is tall and handsome and suited, a visitor from Auckland, the city I have abandoned. The second is at the back of the room twiddling with the technology, my script at his side. He is also suited, a silver fox whose voice you’ll hear on the radio, honeyed and inviting. Today he is the funeral director, alongside a woman I’ve got to know well these last few months, as we bow reverently to the casket at the front of the chapel, eight, nine, ten times together. One is open; one is homemade, a lilac so pale and cool; one is adorned with a sword; one is smooth and curved. I am thankful there are none that are tiny, a task I’m unsure I could carry through. I am in the middle of the eulogy when he walks in, catching my eye. He is also suited, this special man that knows my family, has held my parents as they lay silently ...

A helicopter hovers high above me, the buzzing dot juxtaposed against the clouds edged with sunlight, reminiscent of the Ascension. I am not Catholic, but even I am surprised when I recognise this term and share it with my husband all those years ago. I am even more surprised to find that - as we attend a friend’s wedding - my responses are automatic. “Peace be with you,” he chants, “and also with you” I reply without hesitation. A suburban chick in the country, we pile into the car with his endless siblings, off to the early morning mass, my first foray into ritual and ceremony, my own family devoid of such things. I watch The Virgin, the pressed robes of the priest, take in the smells of humanity and incense, the shuffling as he genuflects in the aisle. I absorb more than I know. © S andy Millar - available on Unsplash Back in the moment, I watch the helicopter, framed with heavenly light, I wonder about their rituals, these pilots. Getting the call, the adrenalin starts pumping thro...

  Warning: death and dying are covered in this blog. Please look after yourself and those around you. If you need help, free text or call 1737 anytime within Aotearoa/New Zealand.    It’s a balmy summer afternoon, and I’m heading to my friends for dinner, where Korean Chicken will salve my growing hunger. Fur Elise starts to play gently on my phone, the tune a memory of the days I had an old piano. My son is calling, distraught, an accident with the cat, an injury, the vet at Carrington. Cursing at insolent drivers and praying for green lights, I arrive, forgetting to scan in, rapidly hugging an unexpected friend in the waiting room who has her own tragedy to deal with tomorrow. I stroke Thunder, the diminutive Co-share Cat, who is lying peacefully in a box. My son, his friends, me - we weep. Deep belly weeps, blue eyes stained with tears, sobbing from the soul. Later, I watch them. Sam’s hands are bandaged, the wounds Thundy inflicted in fear and agony now treated with a...

It is You I sprawl in the grass looking up at the clouds A skylark hovers above, a dot in the blue I wonder if it is you I sit on the beach The black sand warming my body A gull squawks overhead I wish it is you I lie in our tent, my clothes scattered around Darkness pressing against me A morepork cries out I know it is you. (Sandy Millar, 1 January 2019) The ruru or New Zealand morepork. Image by Don Millar (my dad) circa 1960.

It’s late at night as I sit at my computer compiling a funeral service for David, a person I’ve never met. Earlier in the day, I sat with his partner and family, devastated that the man they spent Christmas Day with has gone, his life extinguished in a heart beat. My job is to craft the words, provide structure to the ceremony, hold space for them as we farewell him on a hot summer’s day in Auckland. But first I need to write, I need inspiration, I need energy. Fragile and fragmented - and oddly enough, sometimes funny - conversations with families and friends are my starting point, even when a death is unexpected. But after the meeting, after the tears, it's time to explore, and the internet is a great place to begin. Start with Google (or other search engines) to see what’s available, what’s already been done, and what’s popular. Here are a few things I’ve found useful:   1. Quotes: there are millions of quotes on the internet. Type in a few key words, and you’ll be flooded ...