“What are you going to do about it?”
That sentence was on repeat as I woke up and realized that both my face and pillow were wet. My nose had that familiar stuffy feeling, and I felt the urge to sniff as I emerged from dreams.
Feeling slightly confused, I fought back tears. Then, the memory of my dream came back.
I’d been in New Zealand, in the home of my farmer/kiwi island family – but in that way where it’s not the home you recall, but you somehow still know it’s their home. I’d been watching Ros, my kiwi mom, put out reminders for the rest of her family as to how they were to recognize and celebrate her upcoming birthday. Her birthday was actually that day, but it must have been early in the morning as I watched her. We chatted casually as she put out reminders.
In the moment, the significance of the act didn’t hit me. The fact that she wasn’t actually alive only hit me later in the dream. Because in reality, Ros had passed from our world in February 2020. While I could see her clear as day, I realized that I was the only one who could see her in the dream. She was a ghost – a shadow, a whisper.
The next thing I knew, I was back at my family’s church in Michigan. I couldn’t stop thinking about Ros. I was supposed to be up on stage to sing with the prayer and praise group, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to quit crying for Ros. I couldn’t stand in front of people and cry, so I remained backstage and sobbed, having no response the pastor’s wife’s question, “What are you going to do about it?”
Tears for Ros were sliding down my face. It was the morning of July 9, 2021, and my own crying had awakened me. I sat upright in bed as I sobbed, pleased to see that my field coworker and friend was already gone to the gym and therefore wouldn’t be disturbed to wake up to me crying on our first morning of sharing a room. After all, who cries themself awake?
While New Zealand comes to my mind frequently, Ros does not necessarily, which is why this dream probably hit me so hard.
The loss of Ros has hit me harder than the loss of almost anyone else, though. Though she had passed in early February 2020, I didn’t learn of the news until June 2020, which is when I saw a perplexing Facebook reference to her that mentioned “we were Facebook friends for 10 years, sisters for 34 years” etc. Why would someone use the past tense and conclude a post with the phrase “miss you so much” for someone who was still alive?
A little bit of digging revealed the truth to me; Ros had died in a tragic farming accident on my kiwi island in NZ back in February. Because I hadn’t had internet access while in Antarctica, I’d remained clueless as to her passing; I hadn’t known she was gone for another 3+ months. Once I learned the news – just days into my pandemic baking job in Fairbanks – I uncharacteristically holed up in my room. Scott could tell something must be up, and he was unsure of what to do when I began crying in front of him. As much as I wanted to keep my emotions to myself, the loss of Ros Chamberlin was too much.
It’s no secret that I love New Zealand. When I think of it, I largely reflect on the kiwi research, time spent driving around the country, and backpacking adventures that I was able to enjoy. I honestly didn’t get to know that many locals, as (a) I was on a small, privately-owned island, and (b) most of the researchers I worked with were also from North America. When I was on my 2 week travel stints, I camped or stayed in hostels with other international backpackers. I would have loved to make more kiwi friends, which is probably why having the Chamberlin family still means so much to me.
The greater Chamberlin family owns the island where I helped on North Island brown kiwi research from 2011-12, but it was specifically Dave and Ros’ family that I got to know. It was the family’s yellow “banana boat” – with Dave at the helm – that was my kiwi crew’s usual taxi between the mainland and the island.
Quite simply, the Chamberlins are the kindest, quietest, most lovely people I could have hoped to meet in New Zealand. Dave and Ros are the parents of 3 daughters who are a few years younger than me. Like many kiwis, the Chamberlins are farmers; they had horses, sheep, cattle, and the obligatory multiple herding dogs. 🙂 My commute to the native “bush” where kiwi birds live in forested gullies took me through pastures and paddocks of animals.
During my time on the island, I was invited to help with various farm tasks such as herding sheep, butchering a cow, packing wool, docking lambs, and milking a cow. (I even “helped” when Dave had the vet come for ultrasounds on his mainland sheep.) While helping was by no means required, it was nearly impossible to say no when Dave would stop by with a bucket of fresh milk, his big smile, and the news that there’d be some sort of farm activity to help with if we had the interest or time. As a former suburbanite, I loved experiencing a taste of farm life.
In addition to involving each other in kiwi and farm work, my kiwi crew’s relationship with Dave and Ros was that of friends. We took turns hosting each other for dinner during our 2 week stints on the island. We could stop by to chat whenever. Dave and Ros would bring us extra fruit from their garden. While the Rugby World Cup was happening in New Zealand, we were invited to watch matches in the Chamberlins’ house since we didn’t have TV. A crowd of the Chamberlins’ friends plus our American/Canadian kiwi crew gathered to watch the All Blacks defeat France in a very stressful final.
I owe thanks to Dave and Ros for so much, but so much time has passed that I don’t even remember what all they did for me. From simply being friendly and welcoming, to offering travel ideas, to giving me lodging options with extended family, to buying Shadowfax (my car), they were always generous.
So the Chamberlins were my kiwi family, which is probably why I can’t help but cry every time I try to finish this blog post. It’s why I know this post is rambling, but I’m giving up on worrying about finding the perfect words. I’m writing this so maybe I can get out these tears that won’t quit coming.
The loss of Ros pains me because I’ve lost part of my New Zealand experience. For years I’ve thought about my return trip to NZ, and it always included the Chamberlins. Ros had encouraged my yearning to return on Facebook posts, saying things like, “Hope to see you here soon!”
While I will make it back there once NZ allows foreigners to visit, Ros won’t be there. She won’t be there in her quiet, welcoming, soft-spoken way. I won’t be able to have her self-saucing pudding or pavlova. I won’t get to see her smiling eyes welcome me back to my favorite country. We won’t get to share what’s happened in the past decade of life.
Perhaps the hardest thing is knowing that the “see you laters” we had exchanged when I last saw the Chamberlins are going to come much later. Instead of saying goodbye, kiwi masters student Alex and the Chamberlins had insisted on saying see you later. I obviously was crying a small waterfall at the time, but the demand for me to make our parting feel less absolute made me smile.
I’m looking forward to the day when I can finally see Dave and any of his daughters again, as well as Alex. Being back in the country that stole my heart will bring me such joy, but a little corner of my heart will be crying for the old days. I won’t get to see Ros until much later, but at least she’s up in heaven waiting for her family and friends. I’ll be so happy to see her smiling face there.