Aloha, Dilly

The tan granules of Dylan's remains contrasted starkly with the black, volcanic sand of Hana Bay.

We were in Maui, our sixth day of a dream vacation.  Throughout the week we rode in a helicopter over Molokai's mountains, watched the sun rise over the volcanic crater at Haleakala, tore up the water slide at our resort, boogie boarded on Kamaole beach, attended a luau, and marveled at the scenery on our little road trips to open markets and organic cafes.  Today was our trip on the famous road to Hana, a slow, switchback-laden drive through the most amazing rainforests I had ever seen.  It was July 4th.  It was our last full day on the island. The trade winds combined with some light rain to create a welcome coolness, and the holiday made for light traffic. Our last stop was to Hana's black sand beach to splash in the water, a reward for Colin's patience on the road and a way to stretch our legs and relax for awhile until we took the winding road back to the other side of the island. 

I think we may not have even done it--that is, spread Dylan's ashes on the beach. We were so relaxed and in love with our surroundings, it was hard to think about shifting the mood.  But we had talked about it for months. It was a promise that we had made long ago, to take our sons to Hawaii, and I felt the need to keep it. 

Colin was the first one to reach in and take some of the ashes.  I told Colin that his dad and I always dreamed of the day we could take our kids to Hawaii, ever since I traveled to Oahu eight years ago with him in my belly.  But it didn't work out the way we hoped for our little Dylan.  We had to say goodbye to him so soon after he came into our life.  Someday we will say hello to him again.  So we wanted to bring him here with us and say "Aloha," which means both hello and goodbye. 

We each took some ashes and sprinkled them on the ground. I started to cry a little at the end of my speech.  My habit is to try to keep it together in front of Colin so he doesn't get scared, but I didn't pull it back soon enough, and I saw the alarm in his face.  I told him I was okay, and we started to walk away when Colin stopped, covered his face with his hands, and started to sob loudly.

I sat down with him on a picnic table by the tree where we left Dylan and hugged him, wrapping my arms around his bare, tanned shoulders, relieved that he was letting something out that may have been stuck inside.