Facing Fears and Finding Gratitude: Our time in Hawaii
Saturday January 13, 2018. I go back to that day in my mind every so often to help put things into perspective. It serves as a reminder of how things can switch from being a perfect piece of paradise one minute to being scary as all hell, the next. Joe and I celebrated our 10-year wedding anniversary in Hawaii 2 years ago. It was a bucket list trip for us, the honeymoon we would have had, had I been willing to fly that far back then. We started out the trip in Kauai, a beautiful lush island known for its charm and diverse landscapes. Each day was an adventure for us: scenic shore hikes, whale watching from a catamaran, a helicopter ride, etc. We had it all mapped out—a fun outdoor activity in the morning, followed by lunch in town, and then back to the St. Regis hotel to relax poolside before a fancy dinner.
The photo I took for my girlfriends back in Miami.
On the morning of January 13th, we headed downstairs for one last breakfast on the outside terrace that overlooked the ocean before we would be heading to the airport to catch a short flight to Maui. I remember birds flying by and sitting beside us as we ate our egg white omelets and sipped on our coffees. Life was good. I remember feeling a sense of pride that I had finally conquered my fear of flying, not just with the 12 hours it took to get to Hawaii from Miami, but more so because the day before that I flew with Joe on a helicopter, something that I never thought I would be willing to do. It was totally out of character for me but the beauty that came with it as we hovered over mountains, waterfalls and volcanoes that bordered the Napali coast were worth the butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I even recall asking the pilot to get closer to the ocean so that I could take better pictures of the pod of humpback whales we had spotted below us.
I remember finishing up breakfast and taking one last photo of the stunning ocean view from our table and sending it to girlfriends on our group text thread. Maybe a minute or two later I heard the strangest sound on my phone, it was an alert of some sort that I had never heard before. The sound of it was bone shaking. I looked down at my iPhone that laid on the table face up, to my left. An alert written in all caps appeared across my screen that read: “BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO HAWAII. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL”.
I read it and thought for a moment that I read it wrong or that I was seeing things or that it was some kind of sick joke. I looked at Joe who, oddly enough, didn’t receive any alert on his iPhone. As I showed him the message, we saw people at the tables surrounding ours jumping up out of their chairs in a panic. “Crap”--pretty sure that was the word that came to mind as I realized it wasn’t just my phone. It seemed that everyone was seeing this same message. Joe and I didn’t say much to each other, we just followed the line of people into the hotel where we received instruction from staff members to gather in their ballroom, to “seek shelter”—knowing it didn’t matter where we went-- if a missile was coming our way there really was nowhere to hide. Joe asked one person in the hotel lobby if this sort of thing has happened before and, in a calm, reassuring voice, the woman vowed to us that it happens from time to time on the island and that its most likely a false alarm. She encouraged us to join everyone in the ballroom, that was their protocol. We walked into the ballroom and took a seat on the floor by the wall to the far right. Within minutes the room was packed with hotel guests and staff. I was in disbelief. Why didn’t the message reach Joe’s phone but everyone else’s, I wondered. And how come this isn’t the first time that locals have experienced a scare like this; that made no sense to me either. I sat there and watched everyone panic, the look of fear pasted onto their faces. I watched men and women calling, texting and FaceTiming their loved ones. I listened to their goodbyes. I heard their relative’s cries on the other side of their phones. It was chilling and at the same time I didn’t feel a part of it. I was somehow removed from it all. I watched Joe who appeared to be surprisingly calm. He was on his phone, on a mission. He was checking all news stations and Twitter updates, determined to prove to me that it was all a hoax. He too refused to believe that this was it for us- that within a matter of minutes we would all be dead.
Not sure why I snapped this photo but this was the ballroom as people started to pile in. This is the only photo I took during that time period. You can see some are already starting to take out their phones to make those calls and texts.
The thought of saying goodbye to Joe never crossed my mind. Perhaps the thought never occurred to me because I knew we were in this together— wherever I was going, he was coming along with me. I thought about our boys back at home; Conner was five and Hudson was three at the time. I thought about calling them. It seemed like the thing to do. I thought about what I would say to them in these final moments. FaceTime wasn’t a consideration because seeing their sweet innocent faces would make me cry instantly…like ugly cry in a way that I wouldn’t even be able to utter a single word. I didn’t want to leave my boys with that last memory of me. I then realized that even a regular phone call to them would make me breakdown. My heart started to pound at just the thought of it and I decided to keep my calm and not call them, or anyone for that matter. What was the point of that last phone call to loved ones anyway? To tell them I love them? I knew that they all already know that. More than that, I wasn’t prepared to say goodbye –not just because I didn’t want to scare my anyone, but because by doing so that would mean that I was accepting this reality. Maybe if I refused to believe it, it would somehow stop, I thought. I wanted to sit in the space of disbelief for as long as possible and I wanted so badly to hold on to that glimmer of hope that was given to me by Joe--the hope that this wasn’t really happening. I texted my parents alerting them of the situation, not a goodbye just a heads-up. I texted our friend/sitter, Marta, who was taking care of Conner and Hudson for us and I went back onto the lighthearted text thread of my girlfriends and advised them as well. Everyone replied back immediately—all of them searching for answers on the internet as well. All of them hopeful for our safety. While they frantically searched for answers, they texted me, sending me their love and their prayers. Surreal is the only word for it.
A sigh of immense relief while I took this screenshot to share with family and friends.
Then at 8:48 AM, 41 minutes after the original text alert, we received a new text alert that advised us that it was indeed a “false alarm”. Odd as it was, no one questioned it. This is the message we were all dying to see and every single one of us in the hotel ballroom jumped up off the floor and raced out of there, like a bat outta hell.
Joe and I hopped into our rental car, a convertible, put the roof down and rode off towards the airport. At times I thought that maybe the missile was still coming. Maybe that second text alert wasn’t accurate. Maybe the road would crumble to pieces along with us. We drove faster. The streets were eerie and quiet. The few people that we saw walking by waved to us and smiled and we did the same back. No one spoke but we were all feeling the same thing: gratitude.
The bird that joined us for our breakfast that morning.
While driving Joe turned to me and asked if I would place a call to his sister, Rachel, in Miami. I asked him why and he said, “because if anything ever happens to us I want her and Josh to take the kids”. I nodded in agreement and then I lost it. Heavy tears flowed down my cheeks and I could hardly catch my breath. I couldn’t make that phone call either. I couldn’t stop the tears. I couldn’t even see the scenic drive to the airport, my last 30 minutes of beautiful Kauai, because I was so overcome with emotion. He made the call for me. I fell even more in love with him.
“Facing death is terrifying. It shakes you. It makes you feel things you’ve never felt—think things you’ve never thought. ”
Losing my mom when I was 10 years old taught me so much. I learned from such a young age just how fragile life is. How unfair it can be. How sometimes there doesn’t seem to be a logical explanation for why things are. How suddenly things can change. How short life can be. How precious each day really is. How things rarely ever work out the way we plan. How so many things are out of our hands. I learned it then and I relived it in that 41-minute crash course in Hawaii.
Facing death is terrifying. It shakes you. It makes you feel things you’ve never felt—think things you’ve never thought. And although this missile alert was a false alarm and I live to tell the tale; the experience was real. Those feelings and those thoughts were so raw. Weeks later I thought about my mom and how she didn’t write down anything for my sister and me to hold on to. No last words of wisdom or letters of love nothing behind for us to take comfort in for the years to come. Lori and I talk about this from time to time, how much we wish she would have thought of leaving us a journal or a video or a least a note to open on graduation day or the day or our wedding or something….anything. This experience made me realize that maybe my mom didn’t want to put her thoughts down in writing because maybe she was also holding onto hope—hope that she would survive. Maybe she too thought that if she sat in the space of disbelief and held on to it, the more time she would have with us. She held on to hope and fought for her life for five years, until she finally knew it was time to say goodbye to us, and at that point she was accepting of it and at peace. A day or two before she passed away we did say our goodbyes and she left us with plenty to hold onto—countless photos she took and memories we made together.
We cannot escape death. It comes when it comes. All we can do is prepare ourselves for it by loving our loved ones, finding meaning in each day and living our lives with grace and a deep sense of gratitude.
Being my mother’s daughter shaped me. It’s why I mother my boys the way I do. It’s why I struggle with goodbyes. It’s why I write so much and take way too many photos. It’s why I document everything. It’s why I make sure my loved ones know they are so loved. I now look back at photos of our time in Hawaii and I thank god for every single day I have been given since then. Each day is such a gift and while we cannot possibly “live each day as if it’s our last” like they say, because well, life and responsibilities get in the way; I choose to think of each day like it’s a bonus day that we were never promised. Maybe some days are way better than others, but every day we are alive really is a gift. Once we recognize our fragility on this earth, the sooner we will find a pathway to living a life with purpose, where we love fully, enjoy the simple pleasures, and discover endless gratitude.