Posted on: Friday, February 4, 2005
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HAWAIIAN STYLE
Hanai mother's presence will endure
My hanai mom always kept a close eye on the portrait of her father peering down from the wall. Their eyes would meet frequently.
If the former royal chantmaster Joseph 'Ilala'ole was smiling, Betty Hi'ilaniwai Atkinson would say, he was pleased with the goings-on. If his countenance was dour, something — or someone — in the room displeased him.
"I wish you'd known him," she'd say. "He'd have liked you."
I've always envied Auntie Betty's continuing relationship with loved ones long gone. She said that many evenings, just before bed and usually in times of life's trials, she'd find her late mother sitting on her bed as a comforting presence. They'd talk and things would be all right.
Regularly, she would go, Hawaiian-style, to toss a lei in the ocean and commune at the spot where her husband's ashes found their final peace. They'd talk and she'd be happy.
We'd visit the family plot at Diamond Head, some day her own final resting place. She'd take flowers for her dad, Uncle Lincoln, mom, Rose, or this auntie or that — and a beer for the uncle who liked his inu. She would chat and tell them what was new, perhaps sad. "And, you remember Kilohana," she'd say.
"Do you know where you're standing, Kilohana?" she'd tease, that twinkle in her eye. "Right on top my grave." She always took great glee as I jumped away.
She told me that one day, she would signal me as I carried her coffin to that gravesite: "Psssst, Kilohana, how you?'" Then, she'd laaaaaugh at the thought.
I fully believe that in her way of looking at things, this special communion with those who went before.
I was at work the Sunday my father died. He was a wise man — a physician and teacher. Driving home in a daze, I looked up to see Dad's favorite place: those razor-sharp cliffs, in our valley called Nu'uanu. I remembered the special thrill he'd get driving us to school along that mid-island corridor when a particularly strong wind and heavy rain combined to create that aberration we call the "upside-down waterfall." It seemed it was his alone.
Then Dad's favorite song came on the radio: Kui Lee's "I'll Remember You."
I knew this was his way of saying goodbye.
And now, with death again at my doorstep, I realize this great cosmic kaleidoscope again includes me. They called Wednesday: My hanai mom died at 6 a.m.
Yet, I felt an inner peace — that knowledge that there is some continuity.
Until they bury this beloved lady in the 'aina she loved, there's little to do but grieve — Betty for years had her own farewell planned down to the the ring she'll wear, and the number of 'ilima lei we'll place around her neck.
I know I can expect a visit by that wonderful loving lady — to say goodbye, perhaps as I carry her home. And, I fully expect her to take up her place on the end of my bed whenever I hit one of life's roadblocks.
I know like with others, Betty and I aren't separated — just in a different place for a while.
Aloha, Auntie Betty. But, by the way, did I tell you I love you?
Betty Hi'ilaniwai Atkinson was daughter of royal chantmaster and composer Joseph Ilala'ole. She will be buried Thursday at Diamond Head Memorial Park. Her soul will continue to live in Hawai'i.
