RIP little man

I haven’t been able to talk about this much, partly because it’s not mine to talk about. That’s how I feel about things that aren’t ‘mine’ or my story, so to speak.

But during the fortnight that was…the day we moved here actually…a little boy went missing from this community.

We didn’t hear about it for a couple of days…because we didn’t have power…TV…internet

and I’m quite revolted to say…we were fully self-absorbed with our own pathetic grief and misery over having to move houses.

We completely missed what was going on around us.

We found out when the partner went to the shop a couple of days later and the ‘community’ was discussing it. He came home and told me…and I gave it a moment…then continued complaining about our shit hole house.

Nearly 5 days later and the little boy still wasn’t found…and there were helicopters and cops and search and rescue, swarming the town. There was media on every corner…and there aren’t that many corners in this place! It was a bit like the twilight zone.

And I did, what I do…I analysed. Partially due to the over priced Criminology degree and partially because…well because that’s what I do.

And much to everyone’s horror…they found the little boy…a week later…dead.

Now, this is not my story to tell…so I’m not going to.

But I will say how all this has effected my world…my world view.

– I got scared. Not because he was missing, but because I knew what had probably happened to him…and this is my safe place…and its not safe anymore.

So purely self fish motives. Me me me. How this affects my precious little world.

Good lord…what a twat!

And then I have the cheek to get annoyed with the locals for worrying about their ‘land and house values’…’how is this going to reflect on our community’ bullshit.

Really, I am as self fish and self-centred as these assholes.


Me and the partner went to the memorial service they had for this little boy…and it was shit. A lot of trumpet blowing about how glorious the community is and how they all stand around singing happy songs in times of grief and we will rise again…blah blah, that sort of political bullshit.

But…during this service, ‘they’ (the white locals), let the local Maori, (who by the way, owned most of the land we live on here, until it was sold out or swindled out from underneath them) have 3 minutes to say a token prayer.

And to his credit…he took that token prayer and blitzed the living shit out of it…

He recited an ancient ‘prayer’…the kind that sends chills up your spine if your listening for it.

And me and the partner dropped our heads…and finally wept.

Wept for a 10-year-old little boy who had his little life cut short.

Then we left the whiteys to it and went down to the beach in the dark and washed our faces with salt water and said another prayer.

And that’s where we have left it. That’s where we have let him and what happened to him, rest.

I’ve learnt more about myself in the last week than I think I’ve learnt in the last year. That life is short…too short for some. And while I am ‘unwell’ at present…I’m not going to let that define me the way I have for the past 4 or 5 years.

Because life is short.

And I don’t have a heads up on the expiry date.

So RIP little man. Rest well.

I’m sorry the world is full of self fish assholes…like me…like them…like those that took your breath from you.


kpm ©