She started above the clouds.
Haleakala, the House of the Sun.
She and others, on their bikes.
She passed the fragrant eucalyptus forest
as she descended from the volcanic slopes.
She cruised around the hairpin turns.
She felt the adrenaline rush, the open ranch lands, and panoramic views of Maui.
Stopping mid-way for photos, laughing, smiling.
The exhilaration of spending time with her husband.
The cool mountain makani, giving way to a warmer breath
as she glided down the mountain, connecting with the ‘aina, the makani, and the sun.
The best day was there. But then, it wasn’t.
The last five minutes of the road, the thrill.
…A sharp twist of the front wheel. The bike, a rock?
My daughter met the gravity of the world on the road of Haleakalā,
where Māui once bargained with the sun.
No ropes, like Maui, no trickster hands,
just a girl and a mountain.
The skidding helmet, the neck strap,
the chin, the lip, tasting the pain, the body’s
limbs trying to soften the fall,
the mind, the brain, trying to comprehend what was happening,
the body sensing pain in places it never had before.
The raw exposure, hands, rock, stomach.
She jumped up. She dragged the bike aside.
Then, shock. Her knee, wide open.
Pulsing out red. Blood in her mouth.
She lay down in the thin grass,
stomach turning, the world tilting inward.
Her knees.
Her elbows.
Her mouth.
Her hands. Oh, her hands.
The ambulance ride.
Stitches, X-rays, bright lights.
Betadyne burn, a sharp, medicinal, metallic smell.
They worked slowly, lifting gravel from her open skin.
I see my baby girl in a grown woman’s face. We cry together.
Home. The neighbor dinners, the care, the love.
The body heals itself slowly, a quiet miracle at work.
The mind follows more slowly, and the tears return in waves.
Wound care, another reminder of the pain.
Warmth in the doctor’s voice, care in every movement,
but the body flinches, worn down by the necessary intrusion
and the deepening fatigue.
When will she feel “whole again? She only feels the loss of control.
I encourage her to surrender. Embrace the slow, quiet healing.
The body answers without hesitation, but the mind takes time.
She does feel the love. She knows, but we are all guilty of having little patience.
Māui once climbed the mountain to slow the sun,
to bend the day to his will, but the mountain did not yield for her.
Let the body remember its own way back, the small miracles, and slowly,
she will gather herself, not as she was, but as something steadier and stronger.
*Art: Maui Slowing the Sun by Hawaiʻi Artist, Dietrich Varez