The Presence of Breath

             "Hawaiian Mother and Child" by Jim Stickley, Hawaii Kai 1970

I have been awake since 2:30 am today.  Usually, when I wake, I listen for two things; the breathing sounds of my husband, and the breathing sounds of my dog.  I usually hear Charlie first, and if I do, then I do not move one iota.  Because if I do, then Kili will hear that I am awake and he will start the "Oh good! Finally you're awake and we can start the day!" process.  Which will then wake up my sleeping husband.This morning however, as luck would have it, Charlie was also awake, as was Kili.  So here we were, the three of us lying in the darkness trying to decide whether to just get out of bed. I went first....straight to my computer.

You see, this day is the anniversary of the day I first became a mother.  I've been thinking about it quite a lot this past week. That hasn't been easy. It's been a pretty rough week for me.  In fact, the last two weeks have been positively grueling emotionally, mentally, and physically.  In between that trifecta of going through the motions, have been the little vignettes of thoughts falling upon my brain to remind me of Averie's upcoming birthday. What to say that hasn't already been said?  How to impart to my child the weight and merit of her place in my heart, in my life, in the depth of my soul. 

Charlie and I have always worked so hard at not taking for granted that each one of those three that we are responsible for bringing into this world know unequivocally what they mean to us. I remember once many years ago, Charlie having a conversation with his father about one of his sisters.  He asked his father if he ever told his sister that he loved her. I knew the question arose because Charlie said his father didn't know how to say those words. That he had never said them to Charlie. That Charlie never heard him say those words to his mother.  His father scoffed and said; "No. But I don't need to. She knows."  We both were saddened by that answer. We weren't even parents yet, but later that night, we had a long talk about how, when we had children, they would never question our love for them.  They would always know. We would always say the words; often and with meaning. 

As I danced with these thoughts, it dawned on me that this year has been a year of struggle for everyone.  The entire world is upside down and topsy turvy.  Everyone is doing their best to just get from one day to another.  And I went right back to this morning and the daily routine of listening for the breath sounds of my beloveds.  The kukui (light) went on....

Averie Joy Maikalima O Makua, you have been the absolute definition of ALOHA during this past challenging year.  It sounds so very trite to the malihini ear. As if we're all attending some touristy kitchy luau in Waikiki. But I think you, more than anyone, will appreciate what comes from my heart to you.  ALO (presence) HA (breath) literally means "The Presence of Breath" or "The Breath of Life".

That is how you have handled everything that has come your way this past year; good, bad, ugly, beautiful.  You have done it with an enormous amount of grace, class, integrity, soul, and an endless depth of character that makes me cringe at my own faults and foibles.  

Your presence of breath, your breath of life, your true and noble Aloha may just seem to be a second skin to you.  But to those who are witnessing it from the outside looking in (because really, that's all any of us has been able to do this year) it is a litmus test for what humanity can and should be. From your volunteering, to your standing up for those less fortunate.  From giving your voice to the voiceless, to trying to represent those who have not been represented.  Even in your darkest hours, when you were trying to understand the reason for the knives in your back when you should have been receiving accolades, you stood head high.  Yes, you had your moments, but you took those deep breaths and propelled forward, always forward. Only one way to go; IMUA. You give of yourself when you are pained physically and when your body wants you to stop. You give of yourself monetarily when the country we live in praises selfishness and capitalism.  You give of yourself creatively to bring truth where history would rather leave the coffin nailed shut.  The presence of breath. The breath of life.  That is you. That is the depth of you.

From this mother's heart, I send YOU all the Aloha, in celebration of all the Aloha you've gifted to this world.

Hau'oli la Hanau kaikamahine.  Aloha wau ia oe. 

Mommy