Should grief die or have a time limit? Some say it takes time to get over it. Other’s find it hard to move on quickly after the loss of a loved one, writes Ruta Mave.

I’ve had many jobs, one of my first and continues to be, is dishwashing. Starting as kids often resulting in tea towel flicking fights, dipping the tip into water turned it into a lethal weapon which produced a resounding ‘crack’ followed closely by a high-pitched scream or stream of oaths which ultimately resulted in shouted threats from our mother to behave ‘or else’.  And in those days no one was ever brave enough to find out what ‘or else’ meant.

On November 28, 1979, I was dishwashing at the Auckland International Airport restaurant. It was a private fancy function after hours. I set my private challenge of clearing plates cleaned and drying off against the six wait staff that were bringing in the dirty dishes. They sometimes scraped into the pig bin, before dumping plates haphazardly and throwing cutlery in the wire baskets. Water pooled dangerously at my feet, where I slid from one end to the other moving large square trays into the stainless machine. Steam belched out one end as the door was raised, open the other side and slide in the next tray, close push the button, repeat. The kitchen was all go chefs yelling as they do, trying to get food to the VIPs. Music from a band playing, laughter and clinking of glasses sang through the swing doors each time a staff pushed through with the next course. Gossip was peppered in between the coming and goings, like a daytime drama of who did what and when with whom. Then, the mood changed, night security ran in and out, hushed whispers were glanced at the frivolity in the restaurant, something bad had happened. I carried on washing dishes when I started to get ahead of the towers of plates, we were silenced.  The band stopped, the PA system screeched and the mumble of a deep, solemn voice silenced the diners. A collective gasp, and a shriek of ‘No’ then the scraping of chairs, voices all at once, the staff at the round window of the swing doors turned into the kitchen, and sobbed. Word had come in they announced, it had been confirmed, there was no mistake, they regretted to say, the Air New Zealand flight due to return after an 11-hour sightseeing trip over Antarctica, is missing, presumed crashed. I stood at my station and watched the night crumble. This was supposed to be a celebration, many guests had family or friends on the flight, not by chance but as a special occasion. A birthday present, an anniversary gift, it was touted as a chance of a lifetime, and it was, their last time of life.

Then as life does, we were called back into action, there was a restaurant to clear, jobs to complete, uneaten food to put into fridges. It was well after midnight I sat with remaining staff one of whom had bought his fiancé a ticket as a gift. The enormity of survivor grief pulsed and hung heavy in the air.

The morning departure had crashed 12.49pm into Mt Erebus killing all 237 passengers and 20 crew. Aerial footage showed a large black stripe across the blinding white snow, wreckage and luggage strewn around. Rescuers found and removed the flight recorder, 114 substantially intact bodies, 133 bags of human remains and countless personal belongings. Initial reports cited pilot error, then organisational failures and now 42 years later Jacinda Ardern has announced the government accept it was not pilot error and apologised to the families who were affected.  A memorial book and interviews of family members of the deceased has been released. Plus, video taken from a passenger’s camera, moments before the crash showing everyone in good spirits, enjoying the scenery out the windows, living life right up to that moment in time. Family relations say their emotions feel as raw and impotent as they did 40 years ago. Their grief lives on.

Should grief die or have a time limit? Some say it takes time to get over it. Other’s find it hard to move on quickly after the loss of a loved one. Accidental or terminally ill death, we think we have more time, another day. Grief is not displayed the same by all. Not everyone wears their heart on their sleeves, some find it better walling the intense emotions inside away from prying eyes. Who are we to judge another’s grief?  Andrew Garfield a Spiderman actor spoke about the loss of his mother, “the grief that will remain with us until we pass because we never get enough time with each other. I hope this grief stays with me because it’s all the unexpressed love that I didn’t get to tell her.  And I told her every day.”

Grief is a measure of love.  The stronger the pain the greater the love. Grief remembered is love immortalized.