I stood on Waikiki Beach yesterday and watched my daughter jump straight into the ocean with her fleece pants on. She belly laughed, and ran around with her brother, as the sun set and surfers watched on surf boards. As we gathered our things and headed back to our hotel for the night, a professor from the ship approached us. He said, “Hey, you’re the spiritual lady, you will appreciate this (pause)I think.” And he pull out a small sandwich bag with grey dust in it. “This is my mom and dad. They loved the Royal Hawaiian, I am going to drop some of them there.” Just then, Andrew and Lizzie came up to us, “Mommy, what is that?” The professor started to stuff the bag back in his pocket, apologizing. I quickly said, “No, no, we talk about death in the Finn family.” So he brought the bag back out and explained what it was. They looked very closely, even touched the bag. And then ran off.  Death doesn’t have to be so weird. We just need to get it out in the open. Take it out of our pockets so to speak.

The last time I was in Honolulu, I was with my Dad. My Dad is now on the other side. I did shed some tears as I walked the touristy streets of Waikiki. I remembered how we drove around in an electric turquoise blue convertible. I remember the first time I saw the rocky and sandy shores of North Oahu. It was with my Dad. My Dad and I communicate now with a sign. Those of you who have lost parents know, you have to have a sign. It might be a button, or a penny, or a star. We connect through these little bits of magic. For my Dad and I, it is a rooster. I have a funny rooster story that actually happened in Hawaii (for another time), and an amazing story about how the day after my Dad died a rooster appeared, enormous before me. It was a wooden statue at the entry of the funeral home. A rooster in a funeral home? When does that happen? So, yesterday morning, our last day on Oahu, I asked my Dad for a sign. We pulled up in Hanaumu Bay to snorkel and what came right up to Andy’s door? A big rooster. And it was crowing. Traveling around the world, bringing my work to a new, large community is vulnerable, risky business. I am grateful to have an angel by my side. He always promised he would be.

My Hawaiian memories include shaved coconut ice with a big scoop of pineapple orange ice cream in the center; Lizzie cackling at the waves; Andrew lying face down on the bare sand and almost falling asleep; Andy doing Qi Gong next to (but far enough from) an erupting volcano; picking nectarines and bananas from a tree; and staying in the home of a stranger, who made me delicious waffles and the best spaghetti sauce I have ever had.

Next time, I promise, I will write about the dance. Because is it ever happening on this ship. Sweet dreams, my friends.