She floats across the smooth tiled floor, a large bare space for her effortless steps to carry her back and forth and side to side.
A sound likened to sweet raindrops falling on a drenched sidewalk are plucked from the strings of a guitar and the air in the funeral parlor is relieved of its mournful sadness. The voice of the singer moves everyone closer as weary heads lean on shoulders for strength and hands hold hands for comfort and the want of love to fill the empty space that the recently deceased has left in the hearts of all who attend. Her dress is a simple dark green with large black prints of kukui leaf, her hair cascades about her shoulders which have shouldered much in her life, but now as she moves her shoulders bear the burden of dancing her final farewell for her father. The mele speaks of a love so beautiful that no one can deny its power, it was his favorite song and so through the song and music, the words move her body as if she were a feather lilting along the whim of a gentle wind. A cello offers itself freely and mates with the sound of the guitar and tears well in the eyes of all who sit to witness the ethereal dance. Her smile is a glow that lights the soul of all who bask in it and her tears are the tears of everyone who watches her. Her arms stretch forth and then skyward as if there are no bones beneath her flesh, her back arches as she stands on the tips of her toes and then lowers her body until the hem of her dress gently sweeps the floor. Together the cello and guitar meet to create a note so high that it lifts everyone from their seats for a mere second but gently returns them to their mortal bounds from whence they came. The people sit in stunned disbelief when it becomes apparent that the song is near its conclusion, 'It can't end' they think. 'There must be more'
But there is no more, like the beautiful life of the man who lay in his casket, he reached a sunset beyond a horizon never to dawn again. 'That is the ebb and flow of life,' he once told his daughter. 'We all must sleep beyond the horizon where our ancestors await. When the time comes we will rise from the east again, and we will meet one another.'
Those words guided her through life and it helped her accept the passing of her father as a natural progression, for even beyond the passing of the flesh, there is still life. However, it did not ease the pain of loss but it did not prevent her from living either. His corporeal form lay in his casket but his spirit watched with a deep appreciation for his daughter and for everyone who came to honor his memory.
'This is how a man truly measures his wealth,' he said to himself, 'by all who come to remember him.'
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