The Poetry in the Vomit

Okay, a sketchy title, I know, but let me explain. Sometime in February I planned a trip to Maui for the whole family. I mean the WHOLE family, including Grandma and Auntie Mango. Although I wanted to stay at the Four Seasons or the Fairmont (and spent weeks browsing different suites and packages) I knew that financially a condo was more likely to be our final destination. With each passing month Maui was closer and closer, I could taste the mango and smell the perfumed air under the Banyan Tree. I did not know that 5 days before our plane took off my friend would be brutally murdered. The days that lead up to our "Vacation" were some of the most chaotic and painful days of my life. I don't know that I have ever been so tired in my life ( and this is coming from someone who daughter woke up every two hours for the first year of her life).  I boarded a plane just 10 hours after Danielle's funeral.

I wavered back and forth between depression, excitement, anger, and exhaustion. By the time we arrived in Lahaina was stuck on depressed. I spent several days crying, trying to enjoy myself, but feeling like there was really nothing worth smiling about. So....here's where the poetry in vomit comes in.

We sat down for dinner at the Lahaina Fish Company, a far cry from the quaint table at Spago that I had shared with my husband on our first trip to Maui, where we relaxed in the lap of luxury at the Four Seasons. I felt sorry for myself as I sat there eating my fish and chips, remembering the organic coffee "flight" I had ordered at Spago. I sat next to Georgia as she screamed and squirmed and shoved her mouth full of too much food.  Suddenly, after shoving that last bit of bread in her mouth, she threw up on me. All over my shoes. I quickly cleaned it up, kissed her on the head, and went into the bathroom to cry. I cried and cried - and then I cried some more. I cried for Danielle, for the life I used to have, for Samantha, wherever she was, and for all the pain that lives quietly under the surface in the lives of so many. And as I cried, my tears turned to joy. I had a transformation. I reveled in the vomit on my shoes. I rolled in the blessing of my life. My family at my side. My gorgeous, hysterical, brilliant Georgia. I sunk into the beauty of my new life, as different as it seems, as wonderful as it is. 

There is indeed pain in the world. But is a pepper in a delicious meal that is being served everywhere. Occasionally the meal is just too spicy, so I set it aside. That's okay too. 

I will return to the Four Seasons, mark my words. But in actuality, I would rather stay in a Motel 6* with my amazing daughter and husband, than be alone at Spago. 

(Okay, not a Motel 6, let's not be hasty, but a Sheraton maybe...)