Dear Tania Anne - Tribute to a True Friend

Dear Tania Anne (Tribute to a True Friend)
Content Note: Grief, sudden loss, friendship, and mortality.

I woke up a tad early and couldn’t get back to sleep—whuk sakes!
You know I think of the weirdest things sometimes, so get this: my heart is pakaru (broken) for you, and it reminded me that my car is pakaru (broken) too.
Next minute, I’m comparing our Sisterhood to parts of a car.
Then—to make it worse—my mind told me to write to you about it.
So, in no particular order, here goes…
	Four wheels that kept us rolling with laughter.
	Doors that opened, closed, locked, and opened again—just like what we chose to share, or who we chose to let in.
	Windows that rolled down to let out hot air and steam, and let us feel the wind in our hair.
	The horn—the warning device—for those “naaah, we are not having a good day” moments.
	The motor: a V8 stuck in a 1.3—getting through life on all cylinders, revs hitting red when pushed.
	Comfy seats cradling our kids, moko (grandchildren), whānau, and friends—seatbelts holding them safe, just like us.
	The front screen protecting us from airborne creatures playing chicken, and helping us see clearly.
	Wipers washing away the shit left by outside influences—though sometimes the smudges took a while to clear.
	Rear view mirrors reminding us where we’d been.
	Smooth gear changes—going through the motions, and depending on the situation: zero to one hundred in 1.37 seconds.
	The radiator—always keeping your cool.
	(No dipsticks in this car.)
	The brakes—you’d always stop and check your makeup before someone got hurt.
	(No skid marks either.)
	The fan—yep, I was and always will be a fan of yours.
	The lights—self explanatory; we were both blind as whuk.
	The hood - Porirua City—our hood.
	The boot: big enough to be practical, yet so seductively shaped that anyone behind us couldn’t help but look.
	Well balanced tyres gripping the road ahead—and even with a flatty, you always had two Jacks around (Papa and Son).
	That spare tyre… somehow it ended up around our waists.
	Patches of rust showing the world that although you were a classic, you didn’t need to be perfect.
	The kilometres were high, but we always found creative and odd ways to wind them back—especially on a night out.
	Exhaust fumes reminding me of the fumes you endured while chauffeuring drunk, fighting, wobbling, crying, spewing passengers—any time, anywhere. No wonder you were exhausted.
	The sounds… always loud, always full tit, singing every word—well, you did anyway.
	Perfect tuning and timing. The most reliable, solid, loyal supermodel—running on the smell of an oily rag.

Yep, Tania Anne.
I’m not sure why I compared our Sisterhood to a car, but I do know this:

You were the whukin’ KEY to it all.

Thanks, heaps for the ride, my lovely.
Rest In Peace.

Much love—forever and ever.
MMMWAH

Tags: happy, sad, love, humor,