What could have been a five minute conversation

November 18th
Morning in Te Anau @ Sandfly Cafe
Solo!

I haven't written in awhile. Yesterday promised to be all down time and solo. I thought I would have had a lot more time to read and write but the girls ended up being around much more than I expected, and I surprisingly chose to hang out with them in the morning and the evening for a bit.

The last 24 hours have been very healing for not, not just physically but emotionally as well. I spent the day sorting through my ideas and thoughts on how I'd like to plan the next few weeks/last month of my trip. In the end, I decided against coming back to Te Anau to hike the Kepler, and instead, head straight on to my next work exchange. I'm so excited for all three that I have secured! I'm beyond excited to start that leg of my trip! I'm so ready to be solo again.

Our hosts in Te Anau - Rosie and Alastair - are pure gems. What they have provided to us travellers is unmatched  anywhere I've ever been. The smiles, the open arms, advice, support, flexibility, ease, and the comfort of their home is so special. Yesterday, I was the guest hanging at the house while Rosie and Alastair worked on the garden and deck, respectively. I thought multiple times to offer my help. It was honestly hard not to, but I knew my down time was limited so I held back. I took a stroll into the back garden to snap a shot of my backpacking clothes on the line and take a gander at the vegetable garden they had told me about. Rosie was in the tomato greenhouse they have because it gets too cold for tomatoes to survive otherwise.

What could have been a five minute conversation about the garden turned into an hour long emotional exchange about life, family, death and cancer. We both had tears in our eyes at certain times, a few moments at the same time. Her tears touched me so deeply.

The water first started culminating in her eyes after she told me that she had bowel cancer. After I immediately asked how she's doing now she promptly answered me that's it's gone and taken care of now. She later explained they removed part of her bowels along with an 8cm tumor. But the part of her story that touched me the most was when she shared what was the most difficult part of all of it for her - " telling my children." Her eyes welled up with tears and the edges of her skin around her eyes turned red. "I couldn't even bare to tell them on the phone. That was the hardest email I've ever written. It was heartbreaking." My mind immediately went to that moment when I was sitting in the TV room of Tombstone Backpackers in Picton, New Zealand, on a Google Hangout with my mom and brother,while my mom broke the devastating news. She was pretty calm and collected and strong and held herself together while j pinched my face and feelings as hard as I could in order to keep from breaking down in the heaviest, hardest, loudest sobs my body could expel.

Rosie kept the diagnosis from her children for two weeks. Mom kept it from us in various ways - weeks or months after beginning to get tested. But just a few days after the official diagnosis. Would have been less is I wasn't doing a solo roadtrip around remote coasts on the Norht East side of the South Island.

Rosie told me about how one of her daughters, Tara, refused to listen to her sentiments that everything is fine and that there was nothing the kids could do. That girl hopped on a plane two days later and stayed for a month. And she had a full time job. I expressed my understanding of Tara's actions - "sometimes it harder to be away."

We both talked about how it brought us closer to our families and built stronger relationships. She asked about my dad, and after informing her that he had passed away when I was 14, she instantly understood how strong my bond is with my brother. "Oh you two are everything to each other."

"Yes, exactly." I shared my appreciation for his patience, support and not just welcoming me, but insisting I move into his home.

She assured me how much it meant to my mom that I came home and that every little thing i said and did was greatly appreciated. I knew this already and Mom did express her gratitude very often in our last few weeks together. But, hearing it again from another mom was like heading it again from my own mom's lips.

She told me about her plans for the holidays - all the kids and their families are coming home. This morning, as we said our goodbyes, we also shared a nice long hug - a real hug, the good one's that you can feel and is healing. Her last words to words me will ring in my head for days and months to come: "You'll have bad days. And that's okay. But hopefully you start to get fewer and fewer bad days as time goes on." I knew this already. I've expressed it to others. I accept and embrace it. But, it's so nice to hear it from someone else, who clearly knows what it's like. She's had a lot of death and suffering around her. Not just her own health, but her mom had Alzheimer's, her sister had cancer, she has neighbors and friends who've battled cancer (or their loved one's had) and who've lost children to motorbike accidents and PTSD suicide.

"It's heartbreaking, but it's life." We both agreed on this point. We also both agreed it's interesting and amazing how it changes you and you have to embrace the times when you change. We are not constant beings, we are constantly changing. But all of it makes every moment more meaningful.

I will never forget Rosie. I doubt I'll ever erase the vision of her watery, red eyes and the breathtaking snow capped mountains behind her as we exchanged our stories in the garden. I am forever grateful for her hospitality, time, empathy, love, and of course, those two hugs. I needed those really badly.