This weekend my Amona 'ohana will gather at the chapel, literally, on the side of Kapalama Heights on the island of O'ahu. My Uncle Bill, youngest brother of my Ma Helen Mokihana has passed after a long and interesting life. Pete and I cannot journey back to O'ahu to share in the grief and the celebrating. There are somethings we cannot change. What I can do is remember. And what I can do is write my way through.
I left O'ahu to be a stranger in a new land, Washington state; the valley for raising my new family and a son would change from Kuli'ou'ou on O'ahu to Smuggler's Gulch in Mukilteo. A foreigner was I and the culture would remain strange to me for many years.
Strange and funny how the way through life is planned with the information we have at the time; all the best of intentions and expectations map the journey. How little we really know but it's the Greater Creator who has the whole plan and that one reveals itself in time. I left Hawaii because ... well, in one form or another I was destined to voyage and get entangled with foreigners and become one myself in the process. The stars and astrological maps pointed to a Venus (wants) and Jupiter (dreams and expansiveness) in the House of Strangers (the 11th). Never mind that you may not understand the astrology, I bet there is a bit of adventureress in every one of us to know the feel of that spark.
After I wrote the small story of memories for my Uncle Bill, I put it onto the Cloud Page and went for a walk. Another like sugar-frosted Maple Leaf morning welcomed me to the place I live. As I took the Coyote Trail through the Oak Forest my tears came to clear the way, releasing the sadness that lives in the non-logical and emotion rich place of being alive.
Most nights the big white dog whose job is to signal his presence: "I am watching you!" he says with his constant barking. He is there to keep Coyotes, coyote who is always hungry, from eating the wooly sheep in Susan's field. All night the big white dog barks, interrupting our dreams and rattling my comfort.
When I walk the Coyote Trail I see where they have been the night before. "Did you ask permission?" Pete asked me when I told him of my walk. "No," insulant as that. Coyote never asks permission.
The New Moon, rising with the sunrise there is a time in the cycle of Moon and Sun and Earth to set intentions for living and being. As I sit enveloped in my freshly-washed Big Red storm coat I gathered a story here to create an intention: "You ought to treat a stranger right." Below are two musical YouTubes. The first with an old and favorite Ry Cooder singing live in studio, "Everbody Ought to Treat a Stranger Right." Solid message, an aged and mellow ardent Ry Cooder.
Below is an 1974 YouTube of The Gabby Pahini Band on the island of Hawaii, with a band of such dearly loved Hawaiian musicians many who have passed to the other side of the musical threshold. When this music was originally recorded I was a young wife and mother living in Smuggler's Gulch. I lived with this music on old vinyl and all the emotions of a human living enfolded me. Year in. Year out. The longing so thick and sweet.
Our Ma, Helen Mokihana was Uncle Billy's older sister.
When life was tough and I was not, I remember:
Presents showed up for Christmas: my first bicycle (a black and white from Sears, called "Warrior"; a carry-around phonograph player.
Dark nights and scary times: Uncle Billy showed up in his big car to take us away. We didn't leave. But Uncle came.
In day time hours I remember:
Uncle and the cement mixer on the sidewalk near the pool at the Kailua House.
All us dressed-up to walk around Kailua handing out "AMONA FOR ... "(can't remember what office he was running for) emery boards.
Catching bus with my Ma to go downtown just in time to go to Uncle's office at lunchtime so we could go eat Pake food with them.
Reading a letter Ma kept written by Uncle Bill to the principal at Niu Valley Intermediate School supporting my brother David ... pointing out the discrimination David was living with because they judged him harshly.
Uncle Bill asked me when I returned to Hawaii after I divorced, "What is it you do?" I said, "I write stories." He said, "Then you must write."
When my Brother David was in the hospital and I could not fly back to be with him, Jenny (David's wife) told me Uncle Billy was there long into the evening hours. They talked story. He held vigil for David. He told stories about himself; how much he loved his dog; he wanted to be a veterinarian.
I think now about the stories we believed were true but weren't. As I once again realize I can not fly back to be with family to share in the grief of Uncle Billy's passing, or celebrate Uncle's long and interesting life by hearing the stories others tell of him ... I write this, send it along, and hope this is enough.
Mahalo nui from all us Uncle Billy and Aunty Lydia,
Yvonne, "Honey's girl"
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| Uncle Bill, William Ho'omealani Amona |
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