It has been six months since learning that my only son had passed away. He lived three thousand miles away and I hadn’t seen him in five years. He was thirty-four. We usually would talk every Sunday evening. He would tell me about the details of events in his life. I knew that he was having difficulty coping with chronic pain caused from a congenital spine problem and degenerative disk disease. His occupation as an ivory carver entailed him sitting for long lengths of time to carve, sand, polish, and twist the cords that his beautiful ivory fishhooks were strung on. He had been going to a doctor for medication and was prescribed methadone. Unfortunately, the doctor also prescribed a muscle relaxant.
When I didn’t hear from for over a week, I began calling and leaving messages. I also wrote emails. No reply. My husband finally called the police for a “wellness check.” We waited for six hours until two police cars pulled into our driveway. I knew as soon as I saw those cars that he was dead. When they said, “We have a body,” I wanted to die, too. I still do much of the time.
My beautiful, strong, healthy son had gone to sleep and never woken up sometime between August 11 and August 13. I could not have the closure of looking at his face again.
His friends helped me to hold a memorial for him at the five-mile marker off the Hana Highway on a cliff above the ocean where he went snorkeling and spear fishing. It was on land that was once reserved for Hawaiian royalty. During the service, a huge white bird kept circling in the distance—it would go around a point of land and then return over and over.
I know that Trent is in a good place. I’m not so good without him. I was told by a good source that he had finished his mission on earth. One of the forms a kahuna can take is that of an expert carver. He certainly warranted that title as his art was even revered and accepted by native Hawaiians.
Who would ever think when we are young and thinking the life ahead of us that we would be handed many very difficult trials to bear? I was brought up hearing: “Life isn’t fair,” and you know what? It isn’t.
