In the past month, I've had two tangihangi (funerals) to attend.

Of the past fifteen days of the school term, I've only worked eight. As I return from the current one, that's another two off. There's a strange sense of impermanence in my life now.

This also makes the third funeral in the whole year. That say death comes in threes, so hopefully that's the last of them.

First, I visited my paternal hometown of Hastings to farewell my grandfather. I'd actually been back to visit him, staying in a retirement home, and keep my grandmother company for a couple of days. Even at that time, I knew the end was on the horizon, given his breathing, how little he was eating… and he didn't recognise me. His body was starting the ending process. He finally passed away in late July.

It was a huge time for the whānau (family), with my brother returning to Aotearoa for the first time in about 16 years. In fact, all my grandfather's living sons and grandchildren were there (my father passed away in the 1990s). I met so many aunties, uncles, cousins, and so on that I didn't recognise; it's actually a joyful thing to get to hongi (press noses and share breath) with your whanaunga (relatives), to hear all the stories, to learn about one's whakapapa (lineage).

Despite it being a moment of intense sadness, it was overwhelmingly a wonderful thing to have a family union after so long. My grandmother, surrounded by all her living descendants. My brother and one of my cousins camping overnight in the family living room like we did as kids during the school holidays. My other cousin showing off her beau (a delightful Australian man, to add to our mixed Māori-Welsh-whatever bloodline).

I spoke at the service, flanked by my brother, and (to be honest) I waffled on about things probably nobody either than me, my brother, and my cousins could relate to. Whilst everybody else mentioned my grandfather's lifes sunrise, morning, and day time; I knew him in his afternoon, his sunset, the twilight, and finally the darkness.

I remembered my pa with his blue shirts, earphones, Walkman, and dark glasses. I remembered him teaching us naughty words that we'd get in trouble over when we spoke to our own parents ("Don't get mad, get even!"). I remembered playing Nintendo 64 with him. I remembered how he was loudly disappointed when I left high school spurred me to get into academics once I entered polytech, then university, then post-grad, then teaching. I remembered my pa.

Moe mai rā, Pa James.

(That tangihanga is why I made a couple of stops in Palmerston North last month.)

This month, I returned to my maternal hometown, Wairoa. My uncle Leo Koziol (not actually a blood relation, but my uncle nonetheless) passed away at his home in Nuhaka. His whānau from Tāmaki Makaurau (Auckland) descended on Wairoa to organise his tangihanga. I came up from Wellington to join them and also visit my whānau who still live in Wairoa.

Sadly, we didn't actually get to have the tangihanga; as uncle Leo's body was taken to Rotorua for a coronial inquiry to establish his identity and cause of death, we didn't have the opportunity to stay with his body at his marae as would be custom. We hope this can all be resolved in the next few days but, until then, it was important for us to spend time together.

I got to catch up with my cousin whom I'd not seen for about four years; had dinner with his aunty and uncle and all their whānau; spent the day with him, his wife, my two wonderful nieces, and my cousin's in-laws. His mum-in-law reminds me a lot of mine, actually. It's so lovely that he has a third whānau, the one he married into, to be there for him as I have my husband's family.

We went to the whare kāinga sorted through some of his things; I helped my cousin find all the digital equipment. I found a copy of Hi Honey, I'm Homo! by Matt Baume, a YouTuber who writes about queer representation in American media. As my uncle and I were both a part of the same club (those who prefer the company of other men), I asked my cousin if I could take the book; he gave it to me with his blessing. He said maybe uncle Leo would be happy for me to take it. I hope so. I'll treasure it.

Alongside that, I also remembered that uncle Leo's 2000s-era blog is still online. Considering that I recently remade this blog to imitate a 2000s-era design, I feel a strange (and entire unearned) connection. In 2001, to have your own blog was on nobody's mind; nowadays, we all live online. He did it before it was cool or, in our modern social media landscape, practically mandatory.

It's utterly cruel that he was taken from us at the young age of 57.

Moe mai rā, e te rangatira o te kiriata taketake me te ao ipurangi!