Koro

I thought these few days couldn't break my heart any more until I read the story of an elderly couple, both disabled.

When the water came for them in the middle of last night, they never stood a chance. It was only luck the firefighters got there first.

The firefighters carried the couple out, but as far as the house next door. Others must have needed their help just as urgently.

A young guy lived in the house next door, and he did his best to care for his neighbours.

The old man was only in his underpants, with bare feet, and he was crying.

The young guy dried the couple and clothed them. He took them to the City Mission for shelter.

It’s old-fashioned now, but we used to talk about a thing called the social contract. You look after others, and not just those in the here and now, but the ones who are yet to be born. You do the quiet mahi: pay taxes, think ahead, make plans. You sacrifice. You don’t say it’s too hard, too late now, and the best we can do is pack endless grab-and-go bags, for ourselves and our children and our grandchildren. You find a way.

When your time comes, the ones you nurtured will comfort you.

An old man has done his mahi. He is meant to be warm, and in his favourite chair, the telly on too loud, one hand with a cup of tea, and the other reached over to touch the hand of his wife.

He is a koro, and he is to be cherished – not cold, afraid and crying in the dark.