Aumakua

“Mama wake up, you’re dreaming again… “I saw a white owl …” “Yes, yes mama but you’ve got to get ready for senior citizens your ride will be here in a little while!” It was the highlight of the day for my 82-year-old mom to meet with her friends, she would be missed by her centenarian friends if they did not see her smile today. “Mama, I’ve got a lot to do today, please try your best to get ready quickly”. Going on eight months now …we had established a routine that was working for the two of us. At first it was hard; we both did not plan on her living with me in Barstow. California was far from either of our plans. But here we are. I have second guessed my decision to keep her with me, but I could not let her go back to Samoa without medical support. Who was going to follow up on her cancer, her chemo treatments? My siblings were hesitant to let her stay with me, but I was always the one being the older to make all the decisions. It was decided and that was that. Occasionally she would ask me when she was going back home and I would have to explain to her “Mama, you are with me now, you’re not going back. Please do not miss home so much, we will be happy together, okay?!”

I could only imagine what was going through her mind, did she realize that she truly was not going home? The owl always beckoned her home. It was our aumakua, our family’s spirit god. Oh, Mama I know your heart is on your island, your home you raised us in. Our family restaurant, fish market, don’t worry Mama my little sister the educated one, the doctor will take care of the business end of things. Your health is priority now.

That is why when I received the phone message I was stunned. “Leia! it’s me Tali, I…., please call me, please, please call me, my Lene is gone. My Lene is gone”. All stopped at that moment. All stopped. I could not breathe, my sister the President of the College, her husband, her beloved was gone. “Oh MY GOD, MY SISTER, MY POOR SISTER!” My husband Tele turned to me “what is the matter, sweetheart, what is the matter?” “Lene is gone, my poor sister!”

The next few days were complicated. Where was my passport? “Mama, you can’t go back with me, please Mama its too long a plane ride, you’ll be in the way Mama please understand, there’s just too much to be done, Mama don’t cry I know you want to be with your daughter, but we can’t do this!”

My sister, her son on leave from the Army and her two daughters met me at the airport. My sister just collapsed in my arms. “I’m here now Tali, we’ll get through this…” There were so many things, just things to do. Meet with the village Chiefs, meet with my sister’s son’s in-laws. Ceremony. Culture. Ceremony. Pick the casket. Have the ceremonial dress ready. His wish was for no ceremony. How can we tell the elders no ceremony? Order food. Who will do the eulogy? When is the viewing? When is the mass? Why is she crying? Why is she laughing? Who will pick our other sister up at the airport? His relatives are coming from another island. Twenty-five of them. Set up the house for twenty-five.

“I dreamt of the owl” she told me. I knew it was a sign. I did not know if it was good or bad, but I knew it was a sign. It was a white owl. What am I going to do without him? How am I going to go on? We just celebrated his 60th birthday. He knew he was going to die. He told me I must be strong. How do you know you’re going to die?” I was always the one that took the burden. When we lived in California Dad went to Vietnam, Mama flaked out, she locked herself in her room. I was only seven. I’d knock on the door and ask Mama what we were supposed to eat, and I’d make it for my four siblings and get them ready for school and come home and Mama would still be in that damn room. Here I was again, with my sister’s head on my lap, taking the place of Mama.

The ceremonies went on. Despite my brother in laws request to not have any ceremonial affairs. We could not escape the culture’s expectations of us. How could we not show his family respect if we did not honor the customs. I could tell it was taking a toll on my sister. I thought I am so glad I did not bring Mama. She was a high chiefess and honored by all, damn I should have brought her, so we did not have to deal with these formalities. Mama could speak her language and deal with the formalities. We were not trained properly; I hope we are not offending Lene’s family.

The aftermath, the farewell, the songs from the villagers sound so beautiful over his casket. Yet so sad. Everyone looks so beautiful in their ceremonial clothes, yet so sad. Why is death so sad. I see the chief approach my sister. They honor her. They honor him. They honor Mama. They honor me. Yet we are still sad.

His tomb is a monstrosity, built by his employees to show their respect. Why do they honor him with this extravagance? Does it mean my sister loves him more than the other villagers’ spouses? Do they need to show everyone his importance? I am taken. I am overwhelmed with the emotion and care and the extremes they go to, to respect him, my sister, Mama …me.

Everyone leaves. I am left with my wailing sister. She is finally allowed to grieve in its rawness. She is inconsolable, I let her go. I let her body go limp. I rest her head on my lap, we are sitting in front of his tomb. Sitting at her property that they were going to start building their new home. Instead, his tomb and the waft of the humid air, mixed with the sweet smell of plumeria, coconut palms. The sun is setting we will have to leave soon…and there it is the white owl atop his tomb with its white wings spread wide, I want to tell my sister stop wailing, he’s here, but its too late, he takes flight.