The Ocean

Singing in the Sunshine, Laughing in the Rain.

Our trip was already confirmed and our rental booked just after Daddy D, my stepdad, passed away last year. When I received the small box of ashes from my mom, I knew he was coming with me to Hawaii.

“Where are you going to put him?” My mom asked.

“I’ll know when I get there.” I told her.

He grew up on Oahu, an adopted orphan, a mystery of post-war Hawaii that he never solved.

He spoke fondly of his island childhood. He was an avid surfer, telling me of the beaches he surfed along the North Shore back in the late 50’s, early 60’s. He spoke Hawaiian and could rattle off place-names and phrases. He loved Asian food and culture, and knew so much about Hawaiian history.

Grief is a funny thing. Watching your parents grow old, dealing with multiple health issues - it's hard to process. He was bedridden at the end, nothing like the robust and jolly man I’d known since I was 14.

This past year, I’ve missed him a lot. And I’ve been in a funk. A big funk.

I wish I had paid more attention.

I wish I had asked more questions.

–

While planning the trip, Jim mentioned that he wanted to go check out a giant sandbar in the middle of a large bay.

“A sandbar? What’s at the sandbar?”

I wasn’t happy with the idea. Beaches, hot ponds and swimming holes are one thing, but big water kind of intimidates me, and a sandbar out in the middle of the ocean sounded scary AF.

“It’s a sandbar! There will be fish! It’ll be so cool! We’ll snorkel!” He said.

I still didn’t like the sound of it. Sketchy. Dangerous.

“How do we get to this so-called sandbar?” I said, annoyed.

“Well, we could get on a licensed charter boat with 60 other tourists, which I know you won’t like, or we can find a guy,” he said.

“What do you mean find a guy? A stranger with a boat? A psychopath who is going to take our money and leave us stranded out on a sandbar in the middle of open water? With our kids? Are you kidding me?”

There she is, my inner Sicilian - her words just pop right out of my mouth sometimes.

He acknowledged my outrageous fears and then he found a guy with a boat.

-

His name was Kai. We met up with him in the Safeway parking lot in Kaneohe, where he gave me a warm Aloha hug and assured me we were in for an amazing day. He had good energy and I felt immediately at ease. We followed him and his boat up to the tiny little marina where we parked and launched into the bay.

Kai knew the bay well, he’d grown up in the area and he captained his Whaler with confidence. As we talked, we learned that he was a retired firefighter. I felt even more at ease. We outran a few rain clouds and then headed for the sandbar that glimmered bright turquoise in the distant sunshine.

Kai set the anchor, and when I jumped out of the boat in the middle of this magnificent bay into clear, knee-high water and soft sand - I was giddy.

I’m not a good snorkeler, but I persist. Despite choking on sea water a few times, I saw a ton of fish, and then a honu.

I had this overwhelming feeling that my Daddy D was present, so when I got back on the boat I said a few words and sprinkled some of his ashes into the water. Not all of them. We still had more places to visit on the island. But this seemed like the perfect place to start scattering him.

A honu, from our GoPro.

Moments later, as we were leaving the sandbar, a swarm of Manta Rays were gathered, circling, just 20 feet away from the boat. We slowed down so we could observe their meaty fins flapping against each other in an orbit of joy. Kai said he’s only seen it a few times in all his years. My eyes filled with tears. Just…WOW.

It felt like a blessing.

Kai took us out and around Chinaman’s Hat, then we visited a secret cove and had lunch. Kai had packed some sodas for us, and some fresh fruit. I drank a grape soda, which tasted beyond delicious paired with my Safeway sandwich and macaroni salad. I honestly don’t know if I’ve ever had a grape soda, but if I did it was sometime in the early 1980’s.

Kai had a few rods on board and my James caught his first fish. Kai offered it to us, but I’m like - I’m not prepared to clean or cook a fish back at our rental - so he kept it, bagged it, and put it in the cooler.

James, Kai, and his fish.

After fishing, we headed for a reef and snorkeled a bit more. More beautiful fish to see. More honu. An eel was spotted. Coral was avoided.

We spent four amazing hours with Kai, the stranger with a boat who felt like a brother, a guy we would love to spend more time with. He invited us to his family BBQ that next weekend, but we would be homeward bound by then.

–

I also scattered Daddy D at Ehukai Beach, also known as the Pipeline - where the BIG surfing waves hit in winter and where I know that he surfed regularly. I stepped foot onto the beach and knew immediately - yep, this is a good place for him.

Then, near the end of our trip, I scattered the last of his ashes in Waimea Bay. I knew it then, too.

Moments after I was in the water, scattering the ashes, I witnessed from the beach spinner dolphins leaping mightily - pods and pods of them - jumping with happiness and abandon.

You could hear the murmurations of joy coming from everyone - on the beach and in the water - as the dolphins played. I was overwhelmed with emotion. What a beautiful thing to witness.

Luckily, Jim was out with them in the water. He’s good in the ocean - a good swimmer, scuba certified, former Navy, comfortable in big water - but he’s never experienced anything like this. He got it all on the GoPro. On the recordings, you can hear their underwater noises and squeaks.

Photo by Jim O’Brien

One of the most amazing experiences he’s ever had, he says.

The entire trip was amazing. I didn’t want to leave. I was calculating how we could cash out in Arizona and go all in on being beach bums on Oahu.

And maybe, after the kids are done with college and we are in the position to do it - we will do it. Or at least visit more often. But for now, Daddy D was back home and we made some amazing memories with our kids.

Back to the Arizona heat we came, but we left our hearts in the ocean.

Love you always, Daddy D.