22-02-2011 12.51pm
Eleven years on… Sometimes I wonder how many people stop and remember the events of 22nd February 2011 on the anniversary. How many people remember its significance only once the anniversary has passed? How many fail to remember at all?
Tomorrow will mark 11 years since the deadly earthquake that rocked the Canterbury region and the 10th time we have marked the anniversary. But this year there will be no memorial service, no commemoration. Covid restrictions don’t allow for it. So instead, for those of us who will remember, we will do so in our own way.
Eleven years ago I hid beneath my desk listening to the sound of what I can only describe as underground pipes groaning as the earth thrust beneath us, I watched the wall beside me start cracking apart revealing daylight and I could hear things falling on the desk above where I hid. Eleven years ago my mum hid by a park bench in the middle of Cashel Mall, watching building facades fall onto the pavement around her. Eleven years ago people lost their lives, some in an instant, and others lost their livelihoods forever. Others suffered injuries, physically and mentally, they will carry for the rest of their days, a reminder of that day 11 years ago. Suburbs were destroyed and eventually others born from the displacement of thousands.
Eleven years ago what moved me to fear the most was when a Policeman ran towards me yelling that there was a gas leak and to run. His fear became my fear. I turned and ran through Cashel Mall in search of my mum. The high heels I wore did not slow me down. I climbed over a fallen pole, passed by fallen facades and people covered in dust and blood being pulled from buildings. Sirens pierced the air, a sound that still sends shivers down my spine 11 years on. Eventually I found my mum and we started the long walk home to Hoon Hay, high heels and all, leaving behind a city centre smashed and torn, some remnants still remain even 11 years on.
Thousands of aftershocks later and a fear that sits just below the surface, a fear that causes me to freeze when I think I feel or hear the earth groaning once more. A fear that doesn’t control me or cause me worry but does burst out of nowhere even 11 years on. A fear that while it doesn’t hold me hostage like it once did, still sits there ready and waiting.
Christchurch Quake Map used to be the website we’d visit each day. Now it’s been replaced with websites with daily Covid number updates. A different world 11 years on. But the memories still as real fresh and raw as if it was just last month or perhaps even last week. It is not that I haven’t worked through the trauma. It is more that some moments in life defy the human mind’s ability to process and cope, the memories so intense they linger fresh in the memory for all remaining days of your life. Unshakeable memories.
Kia kaha Canterbury xx
Eleven years on… Sometimes I wonder how many people stop and remember the events of 22nd February 2011 on the anniversary. How many people remember its significance only once the anniversary has passed? How many fail to remember at all?
Tomorrow will mark 11 years since the deadly earthquake that rocked the Canterbury region and the 10th time we have marked the anniversary. But this year there will be no memorial service, no commemoration. Covid restrictions don’t allow for it. So instead, for those of us who will remember, we will do so in our own way.
Eleven years ago I hid beneath my desk listening to the sound of what I can only describe as underground pipes groaning as the earth thrust beneath us, I watched the wall beside me start cracking apart revealing daylight and I could hear things falling on the desk above where I hid. Eleven years ago my mum hid by a park bench in the middle of Cashel Mall, watching building facades fall onto the pavement around her. Eleven years ago people lost their lives, some in an instant, and others lost their livelihoods forever. Others suffered injuries, physically and mentally, they will carry for the rest of their days, a reminder of that day 11 years ago. Suburbs were destroyed and eventually others born from the displacement of thousands.
Eleven years ago what moved me to fear the most was when a Policeman ran towards me yelling that there was a gas leak and to run. His fear became my fear. I turned and ran through Cashel Mall in search of my mum. The high heels I wore did not slow me down. I climbed over a fallen pole, passed by fallen facades and people covered in dust and blood being pulled from buildings. Sirens pierced the air, a sound that still sends shivers down my spine 11 years on. Eventually I found my mum and we started the long walk home to Hoon Hay, high heels and all, leaving behind a city centre smashed and torn, some remnants still remain even 11 years on.
Thousands of aftershocks later and a fear that sits just below the surface, a fear that causes me to freeze when I think I feel or hear the earth groaning once more. A fear that doesn’t control me or cause me worry but does burst out of nowhere even 11 years on. A fear that while it doesn’t hold me hostage like it once did, still sits there ready and waiting.
Christchurch Quake Map used to be the website we’d visit each day. Now it’s been replaced with websites with daily Covid number updates. A different world 11 years on. But the memories still as real fresh and raw as if it was just last month or perhaps even last week. It is not that I haven’t worked through the trauma. It is more that some moments in life defy the human mind’s ability to process and cope, the memories so intense they linger fresh in the memory for all remaining days of your life. Unshakeable memories.
Kia kaha Canterbury xx