Looking at my son Lance in the car that day, as he made his vow to me, was a moment of revelation. His fierce determination, his commitment to change, sparked a transformation that was almost hard to believe. In the months that followed, I saw a new Lance emerge. One who not only acknowledged his past mistakes but worked hard to correct them.
The anger I held for what Lance had done to our youngest ones, to Merc and Angelica, began to recede. He was striving, constantly, to make amends, to rebuild our broken trust. His efforts to help the family, his contributions, were tangible and significant. His vending machine business grew, driving around with a full license he'd obtained in Samoa, and the returns he brought home were a testament to his hard work.
Then one day, Lance approached me with a proposal. He wished to receive the Matai, the title from our ancestral village. As he explained how he'd been learning Samoan and the Fa'a Samoa, I felt a surge of pride. My boy had taken the initiative to understand and embrace our heritage. He had learnt many languages, was excelling in business classes, and most importantly, he had transformed his attitude. Gone were the days of backtalk and insolence; he was humble, accepting advice and criticism gracefully.
As we stood together months later in Samoa, at the family reunion coinciding with my father-in-law's funeral, I witnessed Lance's coming of age. I felt my wife's hand clench mine, as we watched our son being bestowed with the title of Maiava. There was an argument about the Tattau, but Lance's resolve won me over. He was a man of responsibility, deserving of the honor.
Our return to Samoa, however, was marked by sorrow. An accident at the beach led to a hospital visit and the discovery of septicemia. Lying on the hospital bed, feeling the weight of my own mortality, I noticed Lance by my side. The fear in his eyes, the downcast look, the tear-stained face - they told me he was battling his own demons.
I mustered all my strength and sat up, trying to offer some comfort. I told him that some things were beyond our control, that we couldn't always enact change. I told him that I was ready to leave this world, to find peace. I entrusted him with the care of his mother and expressed my faith in God to guide him in my absence. We talked about life, about love, taxes, and dating, trivialities that kept us grounded amidst the ominous atmosphere.
When Lance left for home, I felt a pang of sadness, knowing it was our last goodbye. His recitation of Jesus' promise to return brought tears to my eyes, and his words "till that morning" echoed in my ears long after he was gone.
As I lay on my hospital bed, my life passing before my eyes, I took solace in my family's achievements. Flood, my oldest son, and his unwavering dedication. Lance, transformed and thriving. Merc, my special boy, who taught me strength and resilience, and Angelica, my darling girl, the apple of my eye. I felt a sense of contentment at the lives we'd built, the values we'd upheld, the legacy we'd created.
And so, I closed my eyes, a soft smile on my lips, knowing that my life had been one of love, pride, and fulfillment.