Naleialoha Place

Uncle Eddie wearing plaid, patriarch of Naleialoha Place, sitting or laying on the futon couch.

We could always see him through the open door of the compound, the house that looks like three houses, on the corner that is Hawaiian family.  He'd sit under the flourescent light in the downstairs room with high ceilings, sometimes the TV would be on, sometimes there'd be a church group around or someone cooking in the attatched kitchen behind him.  The door would remain open late at night, with the light still on and no one to be seen.  I always figured someone helped Uncle Eddie upstairs, to a more comfortable bed, where he remained in plaid, sleeping the night away. 

His funeral was today.  His family has been celebrating his life and passing for two days in the yard of the compound, the yard with the massive mango trees.  I was introduced to Uncle Eddie once.  It was a serious introduction that I regard with much respect.  He was sick and frail and he didn't speak, but he smiled.  That's what I remember about Uncle Eddie. 

I'm going to miss this branching driveway of a neighborhood that has its own street name in the valley of Kuliouou with the most perfectly amazing breeze I have ever felt in my life.  We're moving to Ian's parents house on February 1st to save more money in our last months here.  Despite being the only house on the block that isn't part of this massive family, we've always felt welcome and we've always felt safe.  Our departure from Naleialoha symbolizes the start of our adventure and the ending of something that will be reminisced with greatness.  Except for the dogs.  Not our dogs.  Their dogs.  All of their dogs.  Every single barking and howling one of them. 

RIP Uncle Eddie.