Sept.15,2016 Thursday

Mama in Da Moon

It’s da full moon again. A whole 4 weeks have passed since da last full moon lit my way home to Hanapepe. On my first night, I was not aware of the moon, I only knew I needed to shi-shi (pee), but was afraid to walk 10ft to the toilet. The renovated storage room of mother’s old house was now my home. Without indoor plumbing, I needed to use the toilet in the old restaurant’s kitchen, located 10ft. from my door. Key to the backdoor of the kitchen in one hand, cheap $1.50 mini flashlight in the other, I was armed against my greatest fears: giant toads, rats, cockroaches and spiders. Of course, in size, I was the giant human relative to small rodents, tiny insects and harmless amphibians. However, still dwarfed by my fears I cautiously opened my door.   Outside , the evening was so bright. I wondered who was shining such a bright flashlight towards me. Stepping out into a weirdly unfamiliar landscape transformed by an unknown light source, I looked up. Then I remembered how the moon and starscape in Hanapepe feels unbelievably near. Visiting my childhood memory, I saw myself so small that the moon and stars knelt down for me alone to enjoy them. With my flashlight still off, I felt less alone and walked toward the kitchen door. When I approached the door, reaching for the keyhole and doorknob, I heard a squooshy, bumpity bump from behind the washing machine to the left of me. I squealed a girlish squeal and giggled seeing the backside of a toad escaping the giant human intruder. After a warm, comforting shi-shi without rats, spiders, or cockroaches, I walked slowly from the kitchen door to my storage shed door enjoying the company of the moon and stars. The toad hiding behind the washing machine enjoyed them too. The phases of the moon slowly changed and I needed to turn on the flashlight. I started seeing more and more of the toad with the flashlight on.. Instead of squealing in fear, I said “hi! Buddy,” then toad greeted me in return, “Hi! Big Body!” Toad is funny. “Friends at last,” I thought, “I have a neighbor.” Neighbor toad and I often laugh about our first full moon night together.

 

One month ago, in August, was the first night alone in my mother’s house, passed on to my sister and now to me. Not dead yet, I live here alone, in the only habitable space available, the storage shed. Gratefully, the roof doesn’t leak, the electricity works, I can use the toilet in the kitchen of the old restaurant, get fresh drinking water there and shower at the nearby Salt Pond beach park. On this, September, full moon night, as much as I may sometimes feel alone, I am reminded that I am not alone. My neighbor, the toad living behind the washing machine, awaits my visit to the toilet. Tonight, he waits patiently on the cement walkway, an usher in the aisle of a magnificent theater, inviting me to enjoy the evenings performance . The ugliness, anxieties and fears of the harsh day fade into the unseen beauty of the full moon. I forget about the toilet. I forget I have a body. All I feel is the light of Her love shining upon me. Mama Kauai smiles from the face of the moon and begins the story. Lovely toad ushers me to a seat among the stars and I watch and listen for the drama to unfold. Behold, it is my story, the earthly life of my family as seen from above.

 

Mother and sister were living together, at home ,in Hanapepe with their dogs, until mother died in 2002. In 2004, our brother Mitchell died and Gwen closed the Green Garden Restaurant that same year. Gwen died in 2015.

Since 2002, the old family home located just about 10ft behind the old restaurant kitchen has fallen apart from neglect and loneliness. In the tropics, an attractive home landscape of vibrantly colored shrubbery, lush green plants, and palm trees soon becomes a dark tangle of hazardous despair when neglected for too long, about 14yrs too long. Grief unattended takes a toll. The deaths of our father in 1959, mother in 2002,our two brothers Michaelson in 1977, then Mitchell in 2004 was too much for our dear sister Gwen.

Of the five siblings, Michaelson, the oldest son, was born in 1943, Gwen, the older sister, was born in 1944, then Mitchell, the middle child, was born in 1947. Matthews was born next in 1953 and I was born last in 1957. I have no recollection of our father, Michael Kenji Hamabata, because I was only 2yrs old when he died. Michaelson left for California after high school here on Kauai, so I barely remember him either.

Fate and birth order left the earthly legacy and family estate to Matthews and I. Oddly, enough, I who have the least memory of our family history, feel the most kuliana (responsibility) for saving those memories. So here I sit in the light of the full moon and my laptop questioning why the hell did I choose to live in a massive pile of crap.

Gratefully, the roof doesn’t leak, the electricity works and I can use the toilet in the kitchen of the restaurant, get clean drinking water there and shower at the nearby Salt Pond beach park. The renovated storage shed is now my writing cabin. Although it lacks indoor plumbing, toilet, shower and privacy, it is remarkably comfortable and sturdy. It is a 6ft by 10ft, tin roof covered little dump surrounded by a large acre of dumpiness and decrepitude. In their youth, the shade trees and palms with their slender trunks and broad branches offered beauty and welcoming shade. Now, still strong in old age, their wide trunks have broken through the walls of the old house. The sheer weight of their fallen branches and palm fronds piling up, rotting over the years have, literally, brought down much of the roof. The weight of decades of loss slowly but surely broke my sister too. Denying personal support for herself, she too denied support and care for her home and business.

She simply refused to accept the loss and make the changes needed to move beyond grief. She locked herself into the abandoned past and shut the blinds to time. The forces of nature continued to grow forward creating a jungle of chaos while inevitably decaying and destroying what was left behind the fallen gates.

Not until 5 years prior to her death did she accept the friendship and support of Mr. Sammy and his wife Mrs. Lauren. Their large family of children and grandchildren totaling 19 loving beings became my sister’s ohana (family). I call Mr. Sammy and Mrs. Lauren her soul brother and sister. Unlike myself and Matt , her biological sister and brother, they loved the food business and were close to Gwen and the local community in ways we could never be. Whether it was birth order or fate itself, death would be what brought us closer to our sister Gwen and home to Hanapepe.

Mrs. Lauren worked as a waitress for mother and Gwen for a decade during the prosperous mid-80’s and mid-90’s. Both she and her husband worked full time jobs and started up a new catering business, when Gwen approached them about using the old Green Garden for their own restaurant business. Whether she admitted it or not, the situation had become desperate. The parking lot had become a neighborhood dumpsite for abandoned cars and garbage. The unique beauty of the landscape and interior plantscape of the famously successful Green Garden had become a hazard zone of failure. The result of blind grief combined with stubborn pride created a monstrous mess.

Only the brave, strong and pure of heart could face a near legendary, crappy monstrosity like the place had become. Also, my dear sister Gwen was not always so dear. It was as though the broken part of her had become split into extremes of dark and light. My sister seemed to reflect the history of extreme success and failure. Both creative and destructive forces within her never made peace or found balance. Bright bursts of loving kindness, selfless generosity would quickly be overcome by fierce attacks and periods of utter withdrawal, isolation and self neglect. A normally intelligent, compassionate, and happy human being would disappear and reappear a tyrant, bitter and mindless. What severe contradictions to face from an old woman less than five ft in height, shoe size 4, toothless and obese. Yet Mr. Sammy and Mrs. Lauren persevered with kindness and patience. A friendship bloomed and business grew slowly and steadily. With their tireless efforts, courage and love they together succeeded in cleaning, repairing and masterfully creating and serving hearty, delicious affordable local style food and hospitality. Like our mother, they continue to offer lots of Aloha with two big scoops of rice on their daily menu.

Mr. Sammy wrote the mission statement on the menu for their restaurant. He wrote in part,” To breathe life back into the old Green Garden.” He and his wife did put the “Ha” (breath of life), from “Aloha spirit,” back into the old place. I will forever breathe easier believing Gwen died peacefully knowing this new life had begun.