Dat Always Da Case

Life on the island unfolds in many a mysterious way each day, which is never the same and yet always the same.

We are still reeling -- and I couldn't sleep last night -- from the birth of Mayu our new grandson yesterday in Moloa'a. Listening to Isabel, our daughter the mother, talk about the birth I was overwhelmed by the details of a woman bringing a child into the wold. I cannot imagine what that feels like but I know from being present when my three daughters were born that the event is miraculous.

Isabel described pain and convulsing throughout her body as the little guy made his way out, both a complete letting go of her bodily organs while struggling to keep things moving. No artificial inducements. She says that she left her body for a spell, not recognizing a close friend who assisted with the home birth after the baby had arrived.

Being in the same small, intimate room just hours afterward, I had the sensation of being in a church or temple, not a medical clinic and the smell of disinfectant. There was a calmness and feeling of completion as Mayu lay quietly on the bed under a swaddling blanket. He is so small, even at nine pounds, that he was nearly invisible on the bedspread. His older sister, Viva, 7, was present to witness his arrival. "I saw him come out," she exclaimed. You could see her young mind calculating the whole experience. "She was quiet and watched," said her mother.

One more day of carrying the little guy in her belly would have meant going to Wilcox Medical Center in Lihue. Hernan, Mayu's father who held Isabel during birth, said that 45 weeks is the maximum duration for a pregnancy before medical attention becomes necessary, at least as a precaution. As it was, the birth, on the day of a full moon in this setting, was perfect.

He was born in a sac or membrane that contained the amniotic fluid, referred to as a "caul" birth. This is rare and, according to some, a spiritual sign. The cushion of water seemed to have protected him. I pulled the cover down and made a quick study of Mayu's tiny, impeccable body and swelled with emotion.

Barbara and I agreed that we were so fortunate and happy to be there.

Looking out the window I saw green, the color in its many shades that is Hawaii. I took in the wafting breeze and heard a chicken clucking.

Then last night I couldn't sleep thinking about the whole thing. Life. Nature. Family. Children. Parents. Grandparents. The moon. The Way. The tides. Forever changing. The ocean. Sunrise. Sunset. Waves. Forever waving.

This morning I went to the hardware store in Princeville to buy a screen-roller tool to repair our screen door. A woman stocking a shelf asked if she could help me. I told her what I was looking for and she said, "Aisle 11." I searched and searched aisle 11 and finally found the hook where the screen rollers would be. It was empty.

As I walked toward the exit door I passed the woman and told her what happened. She replied, "Dat always da case."