My Last Morning Living in Lanikai

saying farewell to my childhood for one last and lovely time

The pictures of my dream crossfade with the sounds of my present. I am engaging with my mime teacher, making a drawing of checklists where the boxes look like little graphite rectangular inversions of a pyramid, and I am hearing the sounds of the birds of Kailua, the wind in the grove of plumeria trees outside my family home.

I open my eyes to a room softly holding the morning light just so. I can tell I’ve slept in, as I normally wake to the barely crack of dawn, a nearly indetectable shift in the darkness.

I stretch and wiggle and smile under my pile of cozy covers. It is my last morning to wake up in my family home.

It has been quite a tender 12 days back on the island. My gratitude for this container I’ve been allowed to grieve in is boundless. It has been perfect, and because I let it be. I chose it to be. As I conducted the sorting, saving, distribution and donations of what our parents left behind while gearing up for and facilitating the memorial service, I allowed each gripe and struggle to exist in its sharpness without deterring my faith in my mission to be present for it all. To be tearful when I needed to be tearful, to laugh when I needed to laugh, to be home today on my final day home.

The memorial was on Friday, June 21st 2024, on the full moon in Capricorn, during the solstice as we shifted into the Cancer season. Family and friends gathered in the mountains of the Valley of the Temples, and we laid both of my parents’ ashes to rest. My best friend Meghan took the day off to be with me, and we collected flowers from the streets along the way. My niece, my Mother’s granddaughter, leaped at the opportunity to arrange the flowers along the welcoming table. She is so creative, and smart, and kind, and knowing that one-fourth of her heritage trickled down from my wonderful Mom feels particularly special.

Her Dad, my brother’s, portion of the eulogy spoke to how high our parents set the bar for parenting. And it’s true, they were tremendous in their constant and subtle molding and caring for us. I can safely say that while we are all so different, and all have our own flaws, we are also all very much our parents’ children in very wonderful ways. They nurtured three very different beings and, in doing so, left behind three very different parts of them to continue on, contributing to the waves of life, sending their ripples out as we send out ours.

My hope to you, dear reader, is that you, too, find presence for yourself to truly stay with the coincidences that come about during times of death and mourning. I urge you to carve away a segmented slot of life. Do the best you can to process, cherish, and let go as the chapters of your story shift from having someone with you on this material plane to having them in another way.

We are all in our own little web of stories, and the ones we’ve loved who’ve passed on were very much in theirs. How kind it was for my Mom to let me frolic and play and grow up in hers for a bit. My little threads weaving through a brief portion of her grand time here on earth.

A hui ho,

Julia