Searching for Safe Harbor

Kai's birthday brownie baked by the hubby and brought to Hilo.

I've been contemplating what to do for Kai's day for quite some time. It's a heartbreaking milestone but I wanted to do right for my child. I thought of putting together a memorial service so my husband's relatives could attend but I'm not exactly too keen about the idea (besides, all of my family are living overseas, so it wouldn't feel 'complete' at all). Somehow, it felt a bit alien to me. Like I'm just doing it for the people attending and not really for my son. It has this doing-it-for-the-sake-of-it feeling that I couldn't shake off. So Dave and I shelved that idea.

We are not 'showy' people and by 'showy' I don't mean 'flashy' or 'making an attractive show.' What I meant is that we're not 'outwardly expressive' and that we are more comfortable being low-key with our grief, low-key with our remembrance. Now I don't have anything against a memorial service, I think it's a lovely idea and families who do it are an inspiration. But it wasn't for us at this time.

While I wanted to have family take part in our remembrance of Kai, I'm also trying to avoid the pitfalls of pressure like trying to make things perfect or thinking of 'meaningful' ways to get the significance of that day across to our family and friends. I felt organizing a service would lead me to focus more on making things right, perfect, flawless. And that is so far away from what I wanted the day to be all about. It should be about our boy and about us. Period.

On June 16, we found ourselves back to the Big Islands of Hawai'i because it's a very significant place for us when I was pregnant with Kai. It was where we went to our babymoon, where we decided to name him 'Kai' and where I fully felt the connection we have with him. It was where we had fun with him (even if he was in my belly at that time) and caught a glimpse of what our future travels would be like when he's born. It was a happy time and it was only fitting that we go back, reminisce and 'celebrate' Kai's day there, just the two of us with our son in our hearts this time around.

What did we plan for his day? Well, we wanted to scatter some of Kai's ashes on the Pacific Ocean at the Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park. And it wasn't as easy to do as we thought. First, it's illegal (so don't do what we did) and second, it was raining when we got there. So it was a covert mission and I'm sure Kai was probably shaking his head at his parents' shenanigan. Yes, had he lived he would have known that he has adventure-seeking-sometimes-law-abiding-fool-hardy parents. I really wonder what he would have thought about being 'stuck' with such 'uncool' parents. It makes me smile sometimes.

When we were driving down the Chain of Craters Road, the goddess Pele smiled at us and gave us some sunshine. I had a general idea of where we would stop and do our little ceremony for our son. At first, we wanted to go to the Holei Sea Arch (just before reaching the actual lava flow), but we decided against it when we saw there were too many tourists around. It wasn't really the atmosphere we were looking for, so we went back to the first turn out overlooking the majestic Pacific ocean, which was empty and peaceful.

The place was just right and we, fool-hardy, adventure-seeking, explorer-wannabe parents that we are, christened that place Kai's Turnout right away. I would like to mention (if you happen to visit the Volcanoes Park) that the turnout is quite a dangerous place, as the warning sign said: strong winds, unstable cliff, HUGE waves. But of course, it didn't stop us one bit because we're babyloss parents on a mission.

On the turnout, we took out the box that held some of Kai's ashes and the flowers we got for him in a Hilo flowershop. The winds were howling in our ears as we whispered to our beloved Kai. We whispered our birthday wishes to him, our tears as salty as sea foam. I threw the box and my husband threw the flowers. We watched in silence as they got swept away by the frothy waves. We continued to look on until they were no longer visible from our view. Then we stayed there for two hours or so just blowing rainbow bubbles. Or rather, we let the wind blow bubbles for our beloved little one. It was a very special day that filled our hearts with so much love, gratitude and acceptance. And perhaps, a little bit of courage to love life and face the world again.

Kai's Turnout. The only turnout before arriving at the Holei Sea Arch on the Chain of Craters Road.

The unheeded warning.

Kai's box and birthday flowers.

I designed memorial t-shirts for us to wear on that day. It has Kai's name and birthday on the front and e.e. cummings' poem, "i carry your heart with me" on the back. We wore it the whole day we were at the park.


The hubby, getting ready to toss Kai's birthday bouquet. He joked about throwing it like a bridal bouquet but changed his mind. The wind was so strong, we were afraid it might come back to us like a boomerang. Oh that would have been hilarious.


Having fun, blowing bubbles for our little one. Well, we didn't need to blow them, the wind did the job for us. There were a bunch of people who stopped at Kai's turnout to see what we were doing. Nobody asked us why we're doing it, they just smiled and took pictures of the cliff. Maybe I should have told them the place is called Kai's Turnout.

Love.

Gratitude.

Acceptance.

Dearest Kai, I know you watched over us that day. When we were looking at the big blue sea, I remembered how you love the sound of those waves. You danced in my belly whenever you hear it when we were there last. And so we imagined that your spirit was soaring, dancing and playing at the tips of those waves. How it uplifted our hearts to witness the majesty of this Earth. We would have wanted you to see it with us. But I guess, you have a better front row seat than we do and we should envy you. Someday we will join you on that front row seat and look at the world together and never part. We'll exchange adventure stories with you then. For the meantime, we will live in love, gratitude and acceptance in your memory. Happy 1st birthday, Lumpy.

We put our oldest pet to sleep today. Her name is Minachi but we fondly call her, Mina. She was 16 years old. She was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism three years ago but we got it under control through medication and a special diet. Late last year, she was diagnosed with renal failure so we changed medication and went on another special diet.

We made frequent visits to the vet to monitor her condition. And for a couple of months, she was responding well to treatment and had even gained weight. She was a happy, grumpy old cat albeit with incontinence problems. Of course, the vet gave us the reality check. He reminded us that with her age and her illness, the recovery may not last long and we would have to make a very crucial decision when the time comes.

Indeed, this thought was always at the back of our minds every time we hear the old girl meowing for food at 9am every morning, every time we see her sunning herself in the backyard or walking alongside our youngest pet, Tobi. "The old girl may have used up her 9 lives and she might be nearing the end soon. One day she'll tell us when will be the right time," we said to each other. It was our way of preparing ourselves for the inevitable.

One quiet day, about two years ago, I saw her sleeping on one side of the family room couch with Momo on the other side. She never got along with Momo (ever), but on that day she was comfortably napping while Momo sat quietly, staring at the birds in our the backyard. I joined them and sat near Mina. I patted her head and out of the blue, I cried. I suddenly saw how old she really was.

The cat who had chosen us to be her guardians 10 years ago, the one who comforted me in my bouts of homesickness, was really getting old and fragile. My husband came in and asked me what was the matter and all I could say was: "Mina is so old. One day she's going to die and leave us." And he just nodded. Probably dumbfounded at his wife's show of unexpected sadness.

But she gave us a few more months of her life and I believe deep in my heart that she waited until my son's death anniversary had passed before she told us. It was as if she knew how difficult that time was for us. So she waited another week to let us get back to our center and perhaps, prepare us for her passing.

And so today was the day she let us know. She woke us up as usual but this time her meows were different. It wasn't urgent like wanting food. It was low, drawn-out and sad. I prepared her food but she refused to eat it and only drank water. She continued with her low meowing even when I stroked her. There were quite a few times she stopped and walked around. But I soon observed that she was unusually listless. She didn't want to stay in one place and it was as if she was trying to find a hiding place.

My husband suggested a trip to the vet to find out what was happening. But somehow I knew. I knew that she was telling us it was time. I told my husband what was on my mind. And I saw the sad realization on his face when he said: "I'll call the vet right now."

The vet clinic was busy but we were glad they were able to accommodate us on such short notice. We let Mina roam the house and the backyard one last time. We let her see Tobi and Momo before we put her in her carrier and drove off to the clinic. The trip there was so difficult. I tried to keep it together but I couldn't help but cry. I know Mina had such a long and fruitful life but that thought didn't stop the grief from coming like a ton of bricks falling on my heart.

We had to wait with several cat and dog owners in the clinic's waiting room. One guy asked us what was wrong with our cat and my husband murmured an answer. I tried to tune out people when I was there because I didn't want to lose it and say, "My cat is going to die today." How morbid could that be. I just sat there beside Mina's carrier, hugging a bright yellow towel we plan to wrap her in after. The guy realized what we were there for and said, "I'm sorry about your cat," before he left.

We finally got to see the vet after a few more minutes of uncomfortably waiting in that room full of alive and happy pets. He was very professional about the whole thing and walked us through the process efficiently. When we took Mina out of the carrier, she immediately went on the spread-out towel and laid on it. I made her comfortable and wrapped the towel around her. I stroked her head and spoke to her: "It's gonna be alright now, old girl. It will be over soon."

The vet gave her a sedative and then left for a while. Mina remained motionless as we stroked her. Then the vet came back with the final shot and it was all over. She had gone peacefully. We carefully wrapped her in our bright yellow towel and transported her to a crematorium. Before we left her body with the guy who does the cremating, I whispered to her: "Goodbye, Mina, and thank you for all the joy you brought to our lives. We love you. Kai will take care of you from now on."

We're back in California after a couple of days in Hawaii. The trip was for our 10-year wedding anniversary as well as Kai's 1st birthday commemoration.

Last year on June 15th (our 9th wedding anniversary) we confirmed in the hospital, much to our devastation, that Kai died. So what should have been a day of double celebration became one of the most horrible days of our married life. And this is why our wedding anniversary and our boy's birthday will be forever intertwined. For us, these two events will never be 'normal celebrations' instead they will be both about reflection and remembrance.

But that's for another blog entry. I'm posting this one not just to say "We're back!" but also to thank all of you who have taken the time to remember our son with us. I feel so uplifted when I saw your comments and emails on his day. Most of our family and friends forgot the significance of Kai's day to us. So reading your comments, emails and cards brought us a lot of comfort and peace. Dave and I thank you all so much. <3

In three days, Kai will mark his first birthday. I've lost count of how many times I've wished that he is here alive and celebrating this milestone with us. Normal, that's what I hope for. A normal birthday celebration yet a truly happy one where we, as parents, would be breathing a little better for successfully raising a child for a year. But that's not meant to be. So here we are, a year of grieving our beloved son who will never age in our hearts.

Oh how we love and miss him and these feelings have been amplified this month. My husband and I have been weepy since the first of June. When I started decorating Kai's corner, tears were ever present. But somehow seeing his corner all decked out everyday for his special day brings us comfort.

I stood in the middle of the aisle, staring hard at the gamut of party favors, banners, hats, decorations. It felt like I was lost. Like in another dimension. The awfully cheery din of other shoppers faded in the background as I stood there, motionless. Alternately, staring and breathing hard. Staring and breathing hard.

A candle in the shape of a number 1. A colorful birthday banner. Happy 1st Birthday balloons.

I could feel my face contort and my eyes water. 'Shit. I should have done this last month or a few months ago.'

I willed myself to lookup lest the tears fall down uncontrollably. If I let it, I knew I would completely break down in that aisle, crashing like glass on the concrete floor. Heaving, gnashing, screeching like a mad woman amid strangers who know nothing.

Endure it, I said to myself as I grab hold of a Happy 1st Birthday balloon in the shape of a star.

Meanwhile, the grieving mother inside me screamed: "It's not fair. My son should be here to celebrate his first birthday. I can't take seeing all these things. There's nothing to be happy about, my son is gone! What's the use of all these? Nothing! Nothing at all!"

Endure it, I said to her in rebuke. "As long as I am alive, I will do this in his memory. No matter how painful it gets every time, Kai will always have his day. And I will honor it as I see fit!"

The grieving mother inside me wept helplessly like she did back when she knew her son was dead. I could feel her familiar despair gripped my heart, crushing every muscle, valves and veins in its wake. It hurt like hell.

Endure it, I whispered as I closed my teary eyes. Just breathe.

Slowly, the collective chatter of shoppers became louder and things went into focus once more. Having had my tears in check, I look like any other shopper in that aisle. Completely self-absorbed and seemingly undecided.

After a good couple of minutes, I finally picked up the few things I've chosen to buy and made my way to the register. I won't be back in that aisle for a long while.