Whakaaio Thoughts

Nau mai, haere mai ki Whakaaio Thoughts, a space where we share honest guidance and support for whānau facing one of life’s hardest times. We know arranging a tangihanga or funeral can feel overwhelming. There are so many decisions, often made in the middle of grief, and it’s easy to feel confused or pressured. But there’s another side to it too, behind the scenes, not every practice in the industry is as caring or transparent as whānau deserve. We’ve seen this first-hand, an

After someone dies, you are asked to make decisions when your ability to decide has already been stretched thin. They come quickly and in layers. Some are large and visible. Others are small and constant, but no less draining. What kind of service feels right. What music to choose. Who should be there. What they would have wanted. Alongside these are the everyday decisions that continue quietly in the background. What to eat. Whether to answer the phone. When to return to wor

Kia ora, As Christmas approaches, the world seems to get louder. Shops fill with music, calendars fill with obligations, and everywhere you turn there are reminders of what this season is supposed  to look like, happy families, full tables, easy laughter, traditions carried on without interruption. However Christmas looks for you this year, it’s enough. But for many people, Christmas is not light and easy. It can be the first Christmas without someone you love. Or the third

When someone we love dies, we grieve the life they lived, the memories we shared, the moments we held, the stories we can still tell. But there is another kind of grief that sits quietly beneath the surface. A grief for the future that never had a chance. No one really talks about this part .It doesn’t come with a funeral service or a sympathy card. It slips in during the ordinary moments, the ones where you suddenly realise what will never happen now. Grief for the future th

There is a moment, small, sharp, unforgettable, when the phone rings and life quietly divides itself into before  and after . Sometimes it’s the middle of the night. Sometimes it’s when you’re making dinner, or folding washing, or thinking about nothing in particular. Sometimes you already know, before you even answer, that the world is about to tilt. The moment after the phone rings. And then it happens. A sentence. A breath. A silence on the other end of the line. The kind

Kia ora e hoa, When someone we care about is grieving, we often worry about getting it wrong. We fear saying the wrong thing. We fear saying nothing . We fear making it worse. And sometimes, because of that fear, we pull back, not because we don’t care, but because we don’t know where to begin. You don't have to fix anything. But here’s the quiet truth many grieving people will tell you later: They remember who showed up, not who said the perfect words. You Don’t Have to Fix

Kia ora e hoa, There’s a moment no one prepares you for. It’s the days after the funeral, when the visitors have gone, the meals have stopped arriving, and the house suddenly feels too quiet. The world seems to move on, but you’re still standing in the doorway between “before” and “after,” unsure which way to step. This quiet period is one of the hardest parts of grief. In the days leading up to a funeral, there are tasks, decisions, people to update. There’s structure. There

Kia ora e hoa, Teenagers grieve differently, not because they care less, but because they feel everything more intensely than we often realise. They’re caught between childhood and adulthood, expected to be resilient but still learning how to understand their own emotions. When someone important dies, that push-pull becomes even harder. They might seem fine one day and shut down the next. They might make jokes, go silent, get angry, or dive into schoolwork, gaming, or friend

Kia ora e hoa , Some weeks feel like a blur, don’t they? One moment you’re catching your breath, and the next you’re right back on your feet helping someone else find theirs. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately - how grief doesn’t wait for perfect timing, or for us to be rested, or even ready. It arrives when it arrives, and we meet it with whatever strength, softness, or sheer determination we have that day. This week I’ve had the privilege of sitting with families wh