Our latest family vacation to Maui is one I”ll never forget.
I knew the trip this past October would be different. Instead of being obliviously happy in tropical paradise, the reality was the island had recently been riddled with death and destruction. Wildfires raged through West Maui in August, killing one hundred people. Many more lost their homes, businesses, and loved ones.
I was devastated, as Maui holds a special place in my heart. My husband and I have been there many times since our honeymoon thirty-four years ago and we own a second home on the island. Our family’s happiest place in the world.
There was another—more personal—reason this trip would be different. It was the first time I’d traveled since both my mom and dad passed away.
For the past two years, my parents were critically ill. They died within five months of each other. While they were sick, I went out of town a couple of times, but it was stressful. I worried constantly. Even when they were healthy, I’d be anxious when we’d go on vacation, especially if we went abroad. What if something happens to Mom and Dad? What if they need me and I’m not there? My anxiety wouldn’t let me rest.
Our Maui trip was planned for early September, but delayed until the end of October because of the wildfires.
As we boarded the plane, I had mixed emotions—excitement, but also trepidation. I was sad this was the first excursion without my parents on this earth. I wondered if I’d feel the usual joy and peacefulness of being on the island, even though so many there were hurting. Did enough time pass to be respectful of those who lost loved ones, or their homes, or both?
As the flight took off, I inhaled to the count of ten and exhaled slowly. I made it through the hardest years of my life so far. My mom and dad were safe and happier than they’d ever been, together in Heaven. I didn’t need to worry about them anymore.
It felt freeing.
We’d just flown above the clouds, the plane climbing to its cruising altitude. I touched the cold glass as I stared out the window, thinking of my parents.
Out in the powder blue ethereal sky, I saw a vision of Mom and Dad. They smiled and said, “Have the best time, Jen!” Warmth and comfort filled me. The loving vision faded so fast that I wondered if it had really happened. Deep in my heart, I believed it was them.
Sun beamed through the airplane window and I peered down, admiring the gold watch sparkling on my wrist. My dad had given it to my mom on their 35th wedding anniversary. They celebrated their love that year on the island of Maui. The back of the timepiece is engraved: Aloha 35, 6-2-93. That watch is precious to me. I didn’t know it existed (or forgot about it) and was thrilled when I found the delicate treasure while my sisters and I were clearing out our parent’s home. I knew it was meant for me to find. That’s what both of my sisters thought too.
Nearly six hours flying over the Pacific Ocean, the plane descended, preparing to land. The turquoise blue ocean glittered, seeming to welcome us to the island as if nothing had changed. But for many islanders, everything had changed. I prepared myself to witness it firsthand.
On the drive from the airport to our place on Kaanapali, it was heartbreaking to see the devastation, which was more widespread than we expected. Acres and acres of blackened landscape. Houses and businesses reduced to ash, down to the concrete slabs. Charred trees stood among the rubble like scorched scarecrows.
Our beloved historic and charming Lahaina was gone, the whole town obliterated by flames. It felt like all our memories of this special place were simply erased.
My husband, two daughters, and I loved Lahaina Town. Going there was a highlight of every trip. We never missed it. We’d stroll down lively Front Street, nestled next to the ocean. We had our favorite art galleries, shops, bars, and restaurants.
So many memories. Like the time my youngest little girl fell asleep on my lap during dinner, as she was lulled by waves lapping up against the side of the restaurant. Watching the sunset torch lighting ceremony on the rooftop of Fleetwood’s. Sipping lava flows and listening to live music at Down the Hatch. Halloween festivities on Front Street. Wandering around the 150-year-old Lahaina Banyan Tree, hundreds of mynah birds chirping away.
Etched in my mind forever is when my husband, daughters, and I sat on a grassy ridge at the Lahaina Harbor in September 2019, witnessing the most spectacular sunset we’d ever seen. Ever. Vivid blues, pinks, reds, oranges, and yellows lit up the evening sky, like it was proud to be shining above the cherished town of Lahaina.
The people of Maui are what makes the island so special. Over the years we’ve become friends with Hawaiian locals. It saddened us to think of what they’ve been through.
One of them is a man named Justo, who we’ve known for years. We consider him part of our Maui ohana. He works security at the resort where our place is. It always amazes us how quickly Justo recognizes us when we get to the resort—even if we’re hundreds of feet away— and greets us with a huge wave and warm smile. He brings us papayas, mangos, and star fruit picked from his trees at home. When I think of someone who embodies the Aloha spirit, I think of Justo.
On the day we arrived on this most recent trip, my family and I were walking by one of the pools when we spotted Justo. We hurried over and gave him great big hugs. I told him how worried we’d been and asked if he and his family were okay.
“I lost everything. I was living with my sister in Lahaina and her house burned.”
Justo’s brother owned a food truck which was destroyed. In an instant, the brother’s business and livelihood were gone.
But they’re all here—safe.
On the day of the fire, Justo had been at the resort, which is a ten-minute drive from Lahaina Town. He went up to the tenth floor of one of the buildings and snapped photos of the orange and red spiky flames ravaging his home town.
The incredible part was Justo’s positive attitude and big smile. Despite the sadness, he had hope and optimism for the future. My husband told Justo he admired his outlook.
“All I can do is move forward,” Justo said. “Thank God I’m here. I have to keep going. What else can I do?”
Before we said goodbye to Justo that day, we took selfies of the five of us. Our huge grins and beaming eyes said it all. Pure joy to be together again.
Justo’s words about moving forward inspired me to celebrate and honor my mom and dad by being present and enjoying every moment of our time on Maui.
I felt myself melt into island life, the stress and anxiety float away from my body. Every sunset, plumeria, palm tree, rainbow, and the warm Hawaiian clear-blue ocean were beautiful, comforting reminders of my parents. I knew what they’d want most for me is to be happy and live my blessed life to the fullest.