January 1st, 2026
“In my last hours in San Diego during my Christmas with my children, we decided to walk along the beach to take in the surf and shifting clouds. At one point, I felt a strong mood wash over me, a deep sadness. When would we all be together again? A wedding in June?
The thought was unbearable. How could it be that all my kids (“our kids”, Scott would correct) live so far from home? How did this happen? At this point, plane rides, rental cars, and Airbnb’s are keeping us together. All at once, I was furious, emotional, and overwhelmed. Like a huge wave, it crashed in on my heart.
I reminded myself that it was just a moment, just a thought. But it kept coming over and over to me. I was going down in it. Finally, I stopped and turned to them, said, “We will not be all together again till June. That is very hard for me. I love being with all of you so much.” Then the tears came. Not gobs and gobs of them but the silly ones that the wind takes away before they hit the cheek. Just enough for people to notice and stop. They gathered around. My tall, strong Jack and Maya. My tall, strong husband, Scott. Lucia, who is just my size. All arms went around me. I felt suddenly very small. The promises started and reminders.
“I am not leaving to go back to college for another week, Mom.” Said sensitive Maya,
“I am sure I’ll be home for March Madness, Mamma.” Said sweet Jack, who promised me when he moved to California that he would always want to fly back home. (March Madness is what we call the week when Jack, Maya, Scott, and my dad all share a birthday.)
“Mom.. did you forget that you and I are going on a retreat to Ecuador in April?” Said my practical Lucia.
I don’t often let them tend to me emotionally, but every now and then I cash in. This was overwhelming. Then the sun came out, and we kept walking, my arm locked into Lucia’s. I dropped into gratitude again, and the heaviness lifted. Slowly, our feet sank deeper into the dry sand as we tracked toward the boardwalk, back to the car. Up I went, then down I went. I was a mess. I looked forward to Scott, who always walks from point A to B with big, long strides that I find hard to keep up with and a purpose that can exhaust me. By instinct, he stopped and turned around. He opened his hand to mine.
“You’re stuck with Walter and me,” he said.
“I wish you weren’t so quiet,” I said like a bitch. He squeezed my hand and said nothing. Fury rose in me and then fell. Words are not so much his love language, but touch is. He was so easy to blame; he was the only one around to target. His hand felt so good, so safe. What I ride I was on.
On the way to the airport, we grabbed sandwiches and stopped to eat them on “the cliffs”, which reminded me very much of the windward side of Oahu. The terraces of rock that lead out to cliffs beckon you to explore and find the perfect shelf to perch on. The cliffs that fall into the sea make it dangerously beautiful. It felt like home to sit there. I thought back to all the times we pulled off the side of the road on one of our Hawaii treks and hiked down to little patches of beach. Suddenly, they were small again. My eyes searching for where I missed sunscreen, their little hands handing me shells, their feet stomping the waves. Always Scott on alert, standing close in case they went under.
“This is good enough here,” I said, wanting to sit closer to the road, to avoid peering over the edge at the crashing waves.
They were good sandwiches. When you are from New York, you have Deli standards. You compare all sandwiches to New York sandwiches the way you compare bagels and pizza. A good Deli is a find. Jack had found this one after surfing one day and knew immediately he would bring us here when we visited. He took a big bite into his Pastrami.
All at once, my food fell flat in my mouth; it was really time to head to the airport. Up I went and down I went. At one point, I even said to myself, “Geez, is being miserable, then happy, then miserable, then happy, my new normal?” I reminded myself that the moon was waxing, growing fuller every day, and both my girls had fallen into their cycle while together this week. I too was being pulled by the tides and great emotional mysteries of my women’s way, to my connection to water, moon, love, and family. Pulled by the old role of mother and the new role of mother. I found it challenging to respect and truly appreciate the big world my kids require to grow. A world with Pacific oceans and Colorado mountains, cold surf and powdered white trails. Hikes that take them up mountains higher than I have traversed, and dives with long flippers that take them deep in the sea to forests of seaweed and dolphin and reef shark encounters. A college with libraries of knowledge, famous lectures and teachers, mentors of great wisdom, tradition, and connections. People who are out to change the world and have decided to have a really good time while doing it.
We all hugged twice. I watched as Jack drove off first in his new hard-earned Tacoma truck. In the back covered caddy, he keeps a bright green turf to keep his surfboard from bagging around. Folded next to his board is one of the gifts I gave him for Christmas, a towel with magnets so he could create a little changing station for when he takes off his wetsuit. I imagine him wrapping it around him to keep him warm, and this makes me feel lighter.
At the airport, Lucia’s flight, by luck, was the very next gate. I thanked Scott for his excellent travel planning, which allowed me an extra hour with Lucia. When her flight was called, I stood on the Southwest line with her for a bit before she told me it was really time for me to go. I watched from across the aisle as she laughed and chatted with the person next to her.
Another wave came. From a young age, I taught my kids that everyone you randomly meet is the beloved. I know this is the opposite of “stranger danger”. (I also taught them to feel the ick). More importantly, I taught them that the souls you once knew and loved are always trying to find a moment to return to you. Often, you have only that moment to connect with before forgetting again. Perhaps they were the neighbor who brought food to you and your children when you had nothing, or perhaps they were a soldier in your platoon who held your hand before you died in war, or perhaps they were the teacher who taught you to read, or the cousin who made you laugh. Everyone who ever loved your soul is trying to find a way to behold you again. I try not to miss these little moments that feel familiar. I can’t tell you the magic this has brought to my everyday. I promise you, love is never random; it can be found online while you wait for your plane.
Then it was my turn to board the plane. Once seated, I realized a one-year-old was behind me, not having it. She screamed her lungs out as we took off. A part of me was right there with her. Her parents were exhausted trying to keep her safe in her car seat. Clearly, their first child. Finally, the plane levelled out, and they took her out of her restraints. She stood on her tippytoes and popped her head over the seat. I turned and reached my arms up to her. Her mother nodded. Onto my lap she came to Maya’s big, blue eyes in delight. Out of nowhere, I was holding a baby. A baby beloved. I felt her parents exhale behind me. I imagine they took each other’s hands. One day she will go I thought. It will be just the two of you. Hang in there.
“Hi darling,” I said, “I am Bonnie. This is Maya. She is my daughter. We are so happy you found us again. We missed you.” This is the way we should all greet each other. Perhaps it is why I love the words “Aloha” and “Namaste”. “Alo” means face to face, and “ha” is the breath of life or divine life force. Aloha means, “I am face to face with the divine.” Namaste means, “the soul in me sees and honors the soul in you.”
Finally, through the clouds, we popped out into a setting sun. My mood held steady. Perhaps one day I will go up enough to never drop down. But for now, I know, I am here for the ride. All of it. With every dip and dive and soaring moment of remembering, I will meet you there and do my best to remember you. And this, I think, will help me the most with saying goodbye.”
