What’s Behind a Sunrise Post?
Moments before…
What’s behind a sunrise post?
It has taken me 11 years to tell this story. It is a tragedy.
It starts on Maui at our home, built on a sand dune just enough streets up to be out of the tsunami insurance zone and to have a 180-degree ocean view. One of our first nights sleeping in our first and only home we have ever owned we woke up startled by repeated loud slapping noises. After a cautious investigation around the dark corners of the house we made our way to the backyard where the moon was dancing on the water. We heard the loud slapping again but this time we could see the culprit. A humpback whale slapping its tail, playing in our paradise.
Because the ocean was yard side, after many failed attempts I realized the windy salty air was no environment for a garden. So I took it to the driveway side of the house and we built boxed beds on the sloped pavement. The houses next door were so close together that my neighbor and I could do a middle school slow dance at the border aka arms distance away.
One sunny morning as I was watering my driveway garden my neighbor unexpectedly and enthusiastically (and that was why it was unexpected – because he rarely made eye contact and never conversation) said, “Hey Holly! Look I was inspired by your garden and made my own box bed!”
Shortly thereafter, my husband was heading to Aspen, Colorado for a job at length. The employer put us up in our own condo, which was mostly for my six-month pregnant self and two-year-old because on these jobs, my husband worked non-stop. We stayed in Colorado for a few weeks, then flew home.
Our first morning back from Aspen, up early per usual with my toddler and growing belly I was excited to go watch the sunrise over the ocean from our windward paradise. Sitting on a bench close to my neighbors fence I felt so happy staring at this beautiful land and my beautiful son playing in the colors of the new day.
I took a photo.
I posted it to Instagram.
It said “Happy to be home to another beautiful sunrise.”
I hit post and then our little world exploded.
There was a huge blast right on the other side of the fence, maybe 10 or 15 feet from where we sat. A giant plume of smoke created an immediate vicious storm cloud above us.
Next, I heard the gun shots…one, two, three…
They kept going but I was on the run, I grabbed my son and ran inside screaming for my husband.
“What is it?! What is going on?!” he comes running.
“Something is wrong! Something is very wrong!” I point to the sliding glass door and the backyard.
He sticks his head outside, concern growing, “It must be an electrical fire!”
“No,” I say, “The dogs were screaming, they were SCREAMING!”
“Stay here,” he demands and goes out the front door to the front of our house.
Our neighbor is standing in the road hysterical. “He lost his mind!” she says of her husband.
I throw my son and my dog in our car and drive down the street. A fire is raging next door now and my husband refuses to leave our new home. Our first home. Our only home.
I get to safety down the street at our friend’s house waking them up bright and early pounding on the door. I am out of breath from panic, so I just point towards our house and the building mushroom cloud of thick smoke.
Maui is the windy island and we lived on the windward side. We get hit with wind almost constantly. It travels in the direction of our neighbors house towards ours. By some miracle the air stayed still that day. Maybe it was also in shock.
Every police officer and fire fighter was on our street that morning. My neighbor had went to the gas station at 4am and filled up gas cannisters. He pushed his wife outside the house and locked the door. He continued to douse the entire house in gasoline, including a garage filled with paintball guns (his passion). He then went into his backyard with his seven dogs less than the length of two human beings sun tanning in a line from me. He shot the dogs. Three survived, he lit the house on fire and he took his own life. Firefighters and police surrounded the house and stood on our roof but could not enter because the incredible collection of paintball guns kept going off.
I do not think I need to explain the levels of tragedy that exist within this story. He suffered and struggled from mental health. A battle he had been attempting to fight since him and his partner were poisoned from a slow carbon monoxide leak into their office down at the Lahaina harbor. They had been seeking help but couldn’t get insurance to cover a therapist or psychologist. He would have episodes which exponentially grew worse.
His wife lost everything that day. She lost her dogs. She lost their house which was suicide by owner. Every single thing burnt down to the tub that remained filling with water and breeding mosquitos for years to come. She would come back and water the plants towards the sidewalk that remained. She lost her car in the fire. She lost all the clothes that were not on her back. She fought for years with the insurance company to no avail. And we lived for years next to the remnants and constant reminder.
When I tell this story I can still smell the smoke. It lingers in my memory the way it lingered in our home and on our belongings for many months to come.
I have never shared this story. It was too tragic and literally too close to home. My heart is racing 11 years later as I actually document this experience that on or off paper, I will never forget.
And it all began one beautiful morning immediately after posting a tropical sunrise photo to Instagram.
If that is the story behind one of my posts…can you imagine the stories behind the tiny window of social media.
