Hali’a Tours, Pearl Harbor National Memorial, Part II

At the Pearl Harbor National Memorial, Mike parked the Hali’a Tours van and we disembarked. He said, “Alright, you guys are gonna go into the memorial and start checking it out. You’ll have some time to explore before the movie starts. Make sure you see the museum and all the artifacts—because it’s really nice—then be outside the doors of the theater at least five minutes before the show.”

“When they start letting everyone in the theater,” he continued, “sit on the front-right side, near the doors. After the movie, they’ll open the doors; you’ll be first out of the theater and first in line for the ferry, and you’ll get good seats; up against the sides of the boat, you can take pics without anyone’s head being in the way. Got it?”

We all nodded. 

“Your tickets are already taken care of so you can walk right in. When you’re all done, I’ll meet you back here.”

Pearl Harbor National Memorial

We replied “ok,” then headed toward the attendant who was directing foot traffic. There were hundreds of people already lining-up and dozens of tour buses set to unload. Mike waved to the attendant, “They’re with me!” he shouted, and while everyone else went left, we went right. We were inside the memorial in 30 seconds. 

I’ve been to Pearl Harbor before, marveled at the magnitude of what took place, absorbed the sadness, still so palpable. It’s a holy place, every bit a shrine. It is also a graveyard, and the atmosphere—the gravity—completely engulfs the viewer. After 60 years, oil from the Arizona, continues crawling to the surface of the water: the unforgettable “black tears.” Your mind follows the oil downward, as the ferry passes over, to the top of the vessel, beyond the silent guns, to the steel doors, forever sealed, to the cavities of the ship filled with the remains of 900 men. Through teary eyes and lumpy throat, you force yourself to look on. The entire ferry is silent. 

Pearl Harbor National Memorial

In a spirit of reverence, visitors exit the ferry and wander through the heart of the memorial—a small, rectangular white building with rising ends. The names of the lost are carved into the marble walls. To read the names and imagine that day in 1941, is a confrontation with truth: life, fragile and brief, the certainty of death. 

I thought of my son, recently graduated from high school, set to swear-in to the Navy in a few short weeks. I was emotionally off-balance by being here, in this sobering place, facing the reality of having to relinquish my son to a cruel world. But, life happens, whether we want it to or not. 

Mike was right: the museum was worth the time. There were all sorts of items relating to the attack on Pearl Harbor—old uniforms, scale models, diagrams, replicas of weapons and other military things, letters from sailors and their families. The effort made by so many to preserve this story, piecing everything together like investigators connecting clues, was what impacted me more than anything. So many lives were touched and made joint over this one moment in time. 

Pearl Harbor National Memorial

Mike was waiting for us in front of the memorial. Our spirits were lifted by his big smile. The doors to the van were open and the little step stool was already in position. He had leis for each of us and a beautiful plumeria for Addison to put in her hair. As we got back into the van, we were excited to make the most of every moment we still had together.