Category: Women’s Stories

A grandmother’s story.

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Sometimes, the more you know of a person’s story, the more you’re amazed at who they are.

This is the story of L and I. A story of two very different women – not that very far apart in age, but an ocean of difference in family circumstances, and the way our lives have gone – and yet, it’s also the story of two women who find great joy in each other’s similarities.

L and I first met about two months ago. She was living at the Refuge with her four mokopuna, the youngest of whom is 2. When I first met her, she had not long arrived. She tells me, now, that she was resentful at being there. But the person I met wasn’t one who seemed resentful, she was very much one who didn’t muck around, she was a do-er, quite a lot like me. She didn’t initially tell me much of her story, just that she had two sons in prison; she was legally adopting her youngest grandchild; that she hadn’t arrived at Refuge out of violence.

When I first met her, it was established that she needed glasses, amongst other things. It wasn’t her that volunteered that information, but the other women living in Refuge with her. They told me most categorically what Nana L needed. I listened, and put out the call for glasses, and an Aunty of the Twitter variety answered. We organised a date for the eye exam, and that was that.

In the meantime, L was found a house in Otara, and had a wonderful Xmas, courtesy of the #twitteraunties. And the optometrist appointment rolled around. This afternoon, I went out to collect her – she welcomed me into her house and introduced me to “her mate”, her partner of some 27 years. I had first heard about him last week – he had come from Dunedin and was to look after her youngest moko while we were out and about. A very mild mannered man. I was curious about him, about why they weren’t together, but held my tongue.

And so we set off from Otara to Glen Innes, and on the way we talked. And talked. She told me she and her partner had gone to Dunedin a couple of years ago, and that her partner had decided to stay down there to work. But it was too far away from L’s children, and grandchildren so she had come back here a year ago, and here she had stayed. Her son is in prison in Whangarei, and she’s up and down there all the time to see him. Her other children live here, but they live with their parents’ in law, so she couldn’t stay with them when she got back up here and had taken M into her care (her son was caring for his son pretty much by himself before he went into prison). So she landed at her sister’s place and was really happy there, but the social worker – or “parenting lady” she told me scornfully, as if she needed any help parenting – hadn’t been happy with the arrangement and CYFS had insisted she go to Refuge. She took her older grandchildren into her care ( their father had just got out of prison, and her daughter had not been “behaving” as L put it. She didn’t tell CYFS about this arrangement, “because they didn’t ask!” she said. “And you weren’t telling!” I said as I nudged her. She winked.

And as it turned out, she loved being at Refuge. ” I have to go back there and pick my heart up from outside the gate” she said. “I can’t stop talking about them, they were so good to me”.

So that was the woman I first met, where she had come from.

By that point in her story, we had reached our destination, and we spent the next 2 hours with the optometrist, who did the most thorough job. I was very impressed with the young woman’s demeanour – how she treated L, who laughed most of the way through. Afterwards – and they had all stayed late to accommodate us – they asked L to choose a pair of glasses, which they assured her would be there in a week. There were so many frames that L was overwhelmed. “Any pair will do!” she kept telling me. But I started asking her the right questions, and soon a very colourful pair were chosen. She wanted ones that “turn into sunglasses”. Which was a bit complicated, but they fiddled around some more.  I glanced at the price of the glasses. “Complimentary” they told the receptionist, and didn’t bat an eyelash. “I’m happy with whatever they give me, dear” she told me. But I knew, and the staff at the Clinic knew, that she deserved the very best. Another appointment was made – she was insistent that it be before I go back to work so that I could see how very grand she was with them on.

And on the way home, her story resumed. The story of her childhood – she had 10 siblings and had left school at 13 so she could work, and help to raise them. “My mother was a gambler and my father worked all day. He didn’t know what she got up to.”. She had met her partner when she was 27, had stayed at home all that time, to raise her siblings, to be the mother she knew her mother wasn’t capable of being. “And what sort of mother were you?” I asked her. “Everything my mother wasn’t. She was a nasty piece of work. But you get older, don’t you? And wiser, and you don’t let people push you around as much”. Her partner is going to come back up to Auckland, and she wants to go back to work. “I’m in charge now” she said. “Me. I call the shots”.

She said to me that she wanted to come on my Twitter page and tell everybody how much I needed glasses – I can do it myself, I said. I can get my own. “You sound like me” she said. “Always ‘I can do it! Don’t worry about me!’ We’re alike, you and me” she said.

And we are so very much alike, in so many ways. And yet, our stories are so very different. She humbles me, and I love being with her because she laughs all the time, and has a delicious sense of humour. You can’t be snarky or ironic around her, because she can’t hear properly what you’re saying. So you have to be clear and concise, and say what you mean. Just how she likes it. Just how I like it.

Sometimes, the more you listen to a person’s story, the more you’re amazed at the person you are because of them.

TIL: A Xmas party

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Over the last month or so, I have been getting you all together, curating presents, and household goods, and clothes. Collecting parcels from far and wide. Keeping everyone up to date on the happenings, all in the hope that my passion for the refuge would be catching. Would go viral, if you like.  My husband has put up with people knocking on our door at all hours of the day, and night. Our dog has seen people she loves, and people who are strangers to her, come to our house, and has barked herself hoarse (not really, but she should have. And she smashed a window in the process, so it was a bit anxious making for her).
I’ve had people come to my work with extraordinary things for the families at Refuge, and offers of more help. I’ve had emails offering help in many forms, all of which has materialised. My boss has put up with me sloping off early to make deliveries to Refuge, and distractedly checking my phone for important emails and messages while “on the floor” (ie with the kids).

So today was always going to be a bit of a zenith. And it didn’t disappoint. I left work early (shhhh) and arrived at Refuge in good time. Time enough to sit in the shade with O, and chew that fat. Time enough to dress J in his new clothes, and jandals, that Demelza had sent up, and that had arrived just this morning. I sat and watched all the kids – big and little – on the bouncy castle, roaming around chatting, their mothers watching over them. There was a bit of mischief, but nothing injurious, and everyone was happy. As well as 5 of the 6 women who currently live in Refuge and their kids, there was 25 other families. Ex-residents. All women who are doing well in their lives. More on that later.

I met D who, once a week, teaches the women to cook the vegetables out of the gardens they’re growing. Some of the stuff they eat, and like, but most of it they’re not accustomed to, so the excess is given to the families in the community that Christina still supports, in one way or another.

I was sat upon and cuddled by TP and J and B, who were anxious to see what Santa was bringing with him. They knew there was lots of presents – we had delivered them last night, and they knew who they were from too. “When can I open the Aunties’ presents?” TP asked me. Not yet, darling, I said. Not yet. Wait for Santa.

A car pulled up the driveway, and two men got out. One with a camera, the other with a pad, and I knew they were from the Herald on Sunday, and shortly thereafter, Christina called me into the office so we could talk to them. The reporter asked me how I had got involved, so I explained. I told him about all of you, and how important sustaining support for the Refuge was, and how committed many of you are in your support. Christina told him about who they support, and why. About how many of the women, when they first arrive, don’t have a voice – nobody to speak for them, nobody to care for them in the ways they need. Louise told him how all of your support has made it easier for them to do what they do. Your generosity and compassion is making a difference to so many people. I explained to the reporter that just as I am developing a relationship with the women, and the kids, and the staff at Refuge, you too have become invested. You know the names of the women, and their children. You know who they are as soon as I know who they are. You care, you want the best for them, we all do.

The interview went well, and the photographer took photos of Christina and I wrapping presents and chatting, and then that was that. I hope we did you proud.

And then………Santa arrived. C explained to me that she had given all your gifts to the women in the Refuge this morning to store in the cupboards for Xmas Day, or to take home to their families, and that they had kept aside just a couple for each child.

So I sat with H, and some of the kids, as they started getting their presents. TP was fascinating. After asking me if she could open some presents, when the reality came, she sat very quietly, and didn’t open a one. I said she was allowed, so she opened one – a scooter. She was overcome, and didn’t know what to do. She said thankyou to me. I didn’t know what to say. It isn’t me they have to thank, after all, but I said she was welcome, anyway.

B opened her fairy dress and little pink slippers. Ooooooh, she said. Pretty! (The child is obsessed with pretty things. And heels. She loves heels). And we immediately put the dress on and she was as proud as punch.

K was embarrassed, and asked if she could go into the room to open hers. Off she went, but came back with it, then went back to the room. She, too, was overcome.

J wasn’t allowed to open his, and I pleaded with O. So many for Xmas Day, I said. Just one, now. She relented, and we opened it together. He got one flap open – it’s a fire engine! he declared. How do you know? I asked him, and shut the box. Because, he said, I just know. He was right too. And he sat there hugging it. “It’s my first ever fire engine!” he said. And I was thrilled for S who had so thoughtfully picked it out.

After presents, most of the extra families were disappearing, and C  asked the Refuge women to come into the office where she gave them their food baskets, and their cosmetic/toiletry gifts. H looked at me and said “I didn’t know people were like this”. I assured her that I had meant what I had said to her: that if she needed anything, we had her back. And her kids’. A said thankyou for everything we have done for her, and I reminded her that it’s not over, that as long as she has need of us, we’re here. And L, who has her new house, and is moving out in the weekend to start her new life with her grandchildren looked me dead in the eye, and said “I love you. You’re too much”. But she is. She’s astonishing and graceful. And she’s happy. For the first time in a long time. I even got a hug from O, who’s moved into her new house, and I told her that the ideas she had given me for cooking lessons were coming to fruition.

A woman I had seen before Santa came to hug me, and say thank you for all we are doing for Refuge. She was here a year ago, before C  came, and she was so impressed with all the changes. Next year,  she’s embarking on 5 years of study for a Social Work degree. She goes back to Refuge regularly to help out. Because most of the women who leave, if they are able, want to give back in some way to the place that helped them so much. “This place really is refuge” she told me “in every meaning of the word. It gave me back my life.”

I talked to S – who had come to Refuge not only from violence, but from The Lodge.  A notorious boarding house in where crime, and substance abuse and violence are rife, and yet HNZ still place families there. S has 6 children, and all of them lived in one tiny room, before she came to refuge. Now, she says, they have a 4 bedroom house, but they only sleep in two of the rooms, because they’re not used to all the space.

And finally it was just C  and I, talking about what needs to be done, and how we’re going to achieve that. We talked about what needs were now being met, that weren’t before. Now, she says, she’s able to give the excess clothes/shoes/goods/food that come in to women in the community that she works with. Some of the exresidents. But they aren’t fully supported, so I wanted to clarify expectations of the Aunties. We are there to support the women in Refuge. That’s our job. Their needs, we will meet. And anything left over will, and does, go to the exresidents.

You may never meet them, but you have invested time and love into them – time and love that they may have never had before coming to Refuge. I thank you for that, for trusting me to know what I’m doing, for blindly – in some cases – following me into places you may never have been before. I hope you carry on with me. I do. It’s too big a job for one person. And I want to do this for C. For the women and their children. When one family moves out, another moves in. (There is a new Mama coming in over Xmas – she has 6 kids. Can you imagine? They will be living in a reasonably small space.) And we’ll help them too. Because that’s what we do, now.