In My Molecules

Kauai is in my molecules. Her moist tropical air filled my lungs for nearly thirty years. Her rich red earth stained my clothes, my hands, my floors. Her constant gentle trade winds blew through my windows and my life, making the heat and humidity bearable. Her fiery sun burned my pale skin, aging it before its time. Her rains drenched me. Iniki pierced me. She will always be a part of me.

I have been away from Kauai for nearly a year - a year I have spent living with my in-laws on the island of Oahu. A year that has been so mentally and emotionally and physically challenging that I have not had time or energy to just sit and process. It feels like I have spent the last twelve months saying a long good-bye. But now, time is up. I arrived on Kauai as a brand new bride with one suitcase, two cardboard boxes and a baby in my belly. In a few days I will leave Hawaii for good with two suitcases and one backpack, my babies grown and gone.

Some of my babies were back with me over the Christmas break and we did some hiking. We tend to do that when the children gather. The night before the last child boarded the last plane we took one final hike. Jason and Gary and I went up to the top of Kaiwi Ridge - the ridge we see every day from my in-laws' backyard. We went in the dark. All of us were using our new headlamps for the first time. The moon was 98.8% full. The view was spectacular. Moon on water. Na Mokulua in the sea. Picture postcard perfect. Up on the top we were feeling everything. Inspired. My son started talking about the theory of relativity. And other theories. Theories about space and time and matter. Theories I do not understand. He said there is a theory claiming that everything you ever did in your life is still happening. Is always happening. Never stops happening. The good, the bad, the everything, is always there. Will always be there. Maybe I misunderstood what he was saying, but I think I like this theory. Even if it means that Iniki will always be wreaking havoc somewhere out there in the space time continuum.

If this theory is true my father will always be sitting in my house in his "paradise corner." The corner where the two walls of windows meet and the breeze is constantly blowing. He will always be sitting there with that serene smile, reading the paper or napping, looking up as I walk by and opening his hands and his face in that familiar way of his and saying simply, "Paradise."

If it is true, my sister from another mother girlfriends will always be walking with me on Ke Ala Hele Makalae, or sitting next to me at the piano, or drinking wine with me. They will always be there when I need them, laughing and crying with me, lifting me up or bringing me back down to earth.

My piano students will be there too. Listening to me, trusting me, creating sounds that fill them with wonder and joy. They will always be there, some growing up and telling me I have changed their lives, some simply bouncing away down the porch calling over their shoulder, "Thanks for the lesson."

All those gentle kind souls from all the churches I ever played for will be there. They will be supporting me and encouraging me and allowing me to grow as a musician. They will keep telling me how beautiful my music is and how much it means to them. They will keep showing me what love can be.

My grandson will always be standing there at the airport with his arm around me, looking at me with concern as the tears stream down my face, comforting me with his impossibly wise words, "Grandma, just think of it as every day you are away is just one day closer to you coming back and then you won't be sad."

And my kids. They will always be there curled safe in my arms. Or splashing in the sun and salty waves. They will always be taking me on adventures, surrounding me with their hearts and their lives and their love. We will always be gathering around the Christmas table, every one of us, together, laughing until we cry. Everything, everyone, in the same room.  It will always be there.

I want to take my arms and surround it all and never let it go. But I also want to take those arms and turn them into wings and fly away. Maybe it is like when you finally realize you are an adult and you can't wait to leave your parents' house. You love your parents. You have a comfy bed and maybe they even cook for you. But you can't wait to leave. You can't wait to break free.

I want to fly away from Hawaii. I want to break free from what my sister calls the "golden handcuffs" and what I refer to simply as "rock fever."  That feeling where if you get on that same road one more time, the road that takes you everywhere on the island, the only road there is, you will simply go stark raving hopelessly utterly mad. I want instead the feeling of endless possibilities. The feeling of being able to get on a highway and drive for days. The feeling that you could end up anywhere, and not just on the other side of the island.

I want to experience the seasons again. I actually want to be cold. I want to feel crisp air waking up all my atoms and telling me I'm alive. I want to wear sweaters and walk in the snow. I want to see the leaves fall and things die so that I can watch them come back to life. I want to see the cycle of life. And not just the bright sunny side. Sometimes over the years, when I would visit my family on the mainland, it would feel as if I had been living outside of reality. In a wonderland. A beautiful blazing technicolor mirage that made me feel as if I was missing out on something.

But most of all, I just want my towel to dry. Before it's time to take my next shower. Is that too much to ask?

My son said another thing up there on that mountain. Something I have heard him say before. Something I often think of when we're coming down from a hike and I'm afraid I'm going to fall. He said, "You have to trust your feet mom, they know what they're doing." So here we go. Trusting our feet.

I love Kauai.

She is in my molecules.

I'm not leaving her behind. I'm taking her with me.

I'm taking everything.

The view from on top of Kaiwi Ridge
Photo by Gary Heu