The quake and the ‘multi-miracle’ child

It was an astonishing story of survival, but Mairehe Louise Tankersley and daughter Te Aowharepapa have struggled since escaping the CTV Building collapse in 2011. Vicki Anderson

Adecade on, the terrifying cracking sound of the CTV building caving in still haunts Christchurch earthquake survivor Mairehe Louise Tankersley.

When the 6.2 magnitude earthquake struck at 12.51pm on February 22, 2011, she was leading a cultural awareness session on the fifth floor of the building with her 8-month-old baby, Te Aowharepapa, playing at her feet.

It was a miraculous story of survival.

‘‘That’s the enduring thing, every day, I have this beautiful soul in my life, and she is the light of my life, even on hard days,’’ says Tankersley, of Ka¯i Tahu descent. ‘‘I think about that the most. I am so grateful to be here.’’

As the floor beneath her fell away and the building crumbled around her, Tankersley was knocked off her feet, breaking ribs on both sides of her chest and suffering extensive bruising.

In the midst of the terror – dust filling her mouth, glass shattering and screams – she clung to her baby to protect her, using her body as a shield and making a conscious effort to straighten her legs to take the blows.

The mother and daughter ‘‘fell five storeys onto the street below’’. Tankersley was covered in rubble and could smell smoke, but her baby girl was safe.

Even now, when she closes her eyes and if she allows herself to, she can still see the light of the sky above her through a gap in the rubble and the hand of the hero who took Te Ao to safety, passing her down a human chain to be cuddled by a stranger until her mother could join her.

The 10 years since their miracle survival has been an often lonely and difficult journey to recovery: ‘‘That day was the start of the nightmare.’’

Through Tikanga Ma¯ ori, she has devoted her career to helping women in Canterbury prisons have a second chance at a good life. It is a job she ‘‘loves’’ and gives her hope and purpose.

Tankersley has largely overcome the PTSD and anxiety caused by the earthquake, but it has taken many years and intensive therapy.

‘‘It doesn’t dominate every minute of every day like it used to. A couple of stints at the anxiety disorder unit helped. I had invasive PTSD ... flashbacks and consuming worry about Te Ao dying all the time, that went on for years and years.’’

She would check on her sleeping daughter more than 30 times a night.

She’d be driving with her daughter in the back of the car and feel gripped by terror.

‘‘I could see a truck coming and I’d sit there waiting, and it would be rolling in my head like a video: I would pull out, the truck would crash into the car and I would see her and how I’d see her die would be horrific,’’ Tankersley says.

‘‘It was always horrible and gory. It was related to the things I saw that day [of the earthquake] and the trauma of thinking we were going to die.’’

Years after the earthquake, police returned her backpack, salvaged from the wreckage burnt and with her cellphone melted to the material. ‘‘They knew it was mine because my wallet was in it. It was also quite melted, but they could see my face on my driver’s licence.’’

For a long time, Tankersley says she had a ‘‘fatalistic view of life’’.

‘‘It was like it doesn’t really matter. For ages any building I walked into I believed it was going to fall in on us. I know a lot of people felt like that and some still do.’’

Talking about her experience is not something she takes lightly. Ten years have passed, but preparing for this interview has taken some years.

‘‘I can’t even describe how deep the trauma goes, but people need to understand it is still there for many people,’’ she says.

‘‘We both survived, and I am grateful for that. There were others who didn’t, lots of people who have injuries and mental scars, which don’t go away.’’

Te Ao is a ‘‘multi-miracle’’ child, Tankersley says: ‘‘I waited a long time to have her. I was 42 when she was born. She’s an IVF baby, I had her on my own.

‘‘She almost died in the womb before she was born. My amniotic fluid dried up, and it was picked up on a scan at 34 weeks and we straight into hospital for an emergency Caesarean, and then she was in NICU for a month.

‘‘Then the happened.’’

Like many children in Canterbury her age, Te Ao finds comfort in fidget and sensory toys, which are soothing. She’s artistic and enjoys writing. Now 10, she has not known a time in her life without earthquakes. She is scared of them.

Tankersley offered her daughter a gentle view of their survival experience and protected her from her own emotional struggles but at school two years ago Te Ao searched her mother’s name on YouTube and discovered the enormity of their experience. While playing happily with her cat, Lunar, a healing ball of black fur, Te Ao speaks quietly about her worries about her mum being hurt or killed.

‘‘She’s always been a cautious and fearful child, which is interesting,’’ Tankersley says.

‘‘I don’t know whether that has anything to do with the earthquake, I have been told by experts it probably does. She was certainly very quiet for a few weeks after it happened. She doesn’t like climbing and won’t lift her feet off the ground when riding her bike.’’ Tankersley still struggles to go into the central city. It took years of exposure therapy for her to be able to drive past the CTV site. Survivor guilt has also been difficult to live with. ‘‘People lost loved ones and that is horrendous for them.

‘‘But those who survived such a traumatic event ... it has had an ongoing impact as well earthquakes and until recently I don’t feel like that has been acknowledged.’’

It is important to her that she place a pounamu on the CTV site.

‘‘It’s a spiritual place for me in terms of the events that happened and the people who have died there and the experiences of people there.

‘‘It will be spiritually healing to have a pounamu there, which I am hoping will be eventually approved by the powers that be.’’

About a year ago, she spoke for the first time to the man she credits with rescuing her. ‘‘His view on it was humble, he was just doing what anyone would do, but that building was in a dangerous state, and it was on fire.’’

Sometimes people cause hurt without meaning to and tell her she ‘‘surfed the building down’’.

‘‘It was traumatic, it was terrifying. Please don’t speak that way.’’

It has been 10 years but even after so long, sometimes it was only yesterday. It can be as simple as a smell of burnt toast or the sound of an alarm to trigger fear and memories that put her back to that day.

‘‘I still struggle with my mental health and anxiety. Fear of losing Te Ao comes and goes, but it is still there. I still react really badly to loud noises – they terrify me,’’ Tankersley says.

‘‘The rumbling sounds, trucks going past, someone banging something suddenly just brings back that memory of that cracking sound, the sound that started that whole day, that whole time.’’

When you have almost lost the most important thing in your world, every day you are together is miraculous.

‘‘I thank the stars every day I have got her . . . sometimes I think about what life would be like if she hadn’t survived and that stresses me too much, it’s too hard, I just can’t think about that,’’ she says.

‘‘Tell people you love them, appreciate the love in your life, don’t take anything for granted. I don’t.’’

‘‘I can’t even describe how deep the trauma goes, but people need to understand it is still there for many people. We both survived, and I am grateful for that. There were others who didn’t, lots of people who have injuries and mental scars, which don’t go away.’’ Mairehe Louise Tankersley, right