I love Maui. The rugged mountain tops and long fields of cane sugar are not home to me, but they are to my aunt. Most people would say “they were,” but in my opinion, they still are. Even though she is gone, the stately palms and warm ocean tides remember the nature of the sister that my mother lost. The winding roads and bubbling streams miss her presence, for the is one less traveler to take in the island’s beauty. However, the ones left to observe do not wish to see; each grain of sand holds a memory.
This is a little thing I wrote about three months ago, and I thought I should share it considering my uncle passed away a few days ago. My aunt died of lung cancer and my uncle had really let himself go, smoking all the time and not really eating. The other night my two amazing cousins finally forced him to go to urgent care. His liver shut down, and at one point, his heart stopped beating.
God, hope is a weird thing. It’s so essential to our survival, yet it crushes our souls when that hope is diminished.
They thought he was going to be alright; he was stable and getting better. One of my cousins went home, within twenty minutes the nurse called him telling him to come back. By the time my cousin got to the hospital, my uncle was gone. I guess he just really missed my aunt. Im still really depressed about the whole thing, but I know that wherever they are, they are together and probably dancing to Hooked On A Feeling by Blue Swede. I’d like to think that wherever they are, they’re happy.
The only question I have for whoever is up there controlling our fate is, Why do the worst things always happen to the best people?