Today marks 15 years since my dad died on October 23, 2010.
I was surprised to realize that it has been that long.
Here’s some of what I wrote at the time.
On Friday morning, when my father’s nursing home called and advised that we come as soon as possible, I was at home in Kaaawa without a car. After dressing and walking quickly down to the bus stop on Kamehameha Highway near the post office, I was a minute too late. The 11:01 a.m. bus slid through Kaaawa and headed off towards Kaneohe while I was still a block away. It was a short block, but at that moment it seemed like the longest block in the world.
I was frantic. For nearly two years, we’ve known he could die at any time, but he didn’t. Then, when the day actually arrives, I wasn’t ready, and I wanted to kick myself for being caught unprepared.
Deep breath. A half-hour to go. You just have to wait. Calm down, I said to myself.
So we crossed the street, myself and I, and sat on the seawall behind Swanzy Beach Park to watch the ocean at play. It was quiet, sunny, and clear. There were a few other people in the park, but I was alone with myself and the ocean. I thought about my father’s nearly 97 years, during most of which he swam, surfed, and fished in this same ocean. I let that connection wash over me, and willed it to wash over him as well, wherever he was or would be soon.
The ocean, the healer.
My father died about 12 hours after I finally arrived at his bedside. We were there with him for much of that awful time, but not, I have to say, at the very end.
For the record, my father did not appear in my dreams last night.
Perhaps the ocean did its magic.
I posted a few photos that I thought he would have enjoyed seeing again, and that he wouldn’t mind sharing with others in his memory.
That’s him in the top photo surfing in Long Beach, California, in 1938, where he was one of the key organizers of the First National Surfing Championship at a surf spot later wiped out by construction of the Long Beach breakwater. His board had been built by the father of his close friend, Myron Brejcha, who was a Long Beach city official.
The middle photo was a Christmas card sent out by my parents around 1940. They’re walking on Kahala Beach with my mother’s dog, Kiki, the same beach Meda and I regularly walk today.
The bottom photo was taken on the beach in Waikiki, early 1950s.
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