Her name was Maile Malama Kamehameha. It was a long moniker and it pretty well summed her up. Maile is a kind of Hawaiian vine used as a ceremonial lei and worn mostly by men — she loved ceremonies and always gravitated to male “two-legs” (as she called human beings). Malama means “to take care of,” and that was her goal in life, which she did perfectly. Kamehameha is the name of Hawaii’s first king, the chief who united all the islands, which suggests her strength in adversity. But, as she would have told you, that all sounds a little too grand. What she did really well was enjoy life.
One of the things she loved most, and we Islanders can all relate to that, was swim. Every day, at about five in the afternoon, we showed up at the beach in Harthaven. We swam together side by side (it took a little time to convince her that was a good thing). Looking one way, I saw the glistening jewels of water spill off my arm as I “Australian-crawled” through the water. Looking the other way, I saw her churning legs as she “dog-paddled.” I could beat her in a short race, but she was faster over any distance. Her beach behavior, however, was a little raunchy. She loved to eat all kinds of dead things — crabs, fish and shellfish — and, walking the Farm Neck Golf Course, it was difficult to convince her that goose turds were not for consumption. She was an athlete who responded to the challenge of all kinds of thrown projectiles. Like all good Islanders, she understood the meaning of “community” and greeted everyone who came her way with enthusiasm.
A year ago, she had her first seizure — probably caused by a brain tumor of some kind. During the last two weeks, she had two more, which she responded to by getting back to work enjoying life within a day or so. She was strong — and loyal. I’m convinced she stayed around to guide me most of the way through my first winter on the Island. And she was deeply wise. How do I know that? Because unlike most of us, she knew when the party was over. After almost 12 years of loving life, she passed away at 3:25 on Thursday morning. Life will never be the same.
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