Deborah Ann Haunani Somera

My Mother, Deborah, was born in Honolulu, Hawaii, on July 11, 1953, at Tripler Army Medical Center. She was the middle child of 7 kids to Anela Keliihoomalu and William McMillan. Shortly after her birth, she and her family moved to Tyler, Texas, where she will spend most of her youth. She often shared stories of her childhood—playing in the woods, bringing creatures home to her mom, and helping her mother care for her younger siblings. Eventually, they returned to Oahu, where she attended Kailua High School. It was also during this time that she met my dad, fell in love, and they married on July 26, 1972.

Together, they traveled to Kona, Florida, Vallejo, California, and back to Oahu, where she worked at Burger King before I was born. My Aunt Christine once told me about the joy my mom felt when she discovered she was pregnant with me. After struggling to conceive, she was overwhelmed with happiness and even had a name picked out before she knew I was a girl.

As an only child, I grew up knowing two things: to make my parents proud and to avoid making my dad mad. My dad was overprotective and kept my life sheltered, but my mom was the one who whisked me away to experience the world as a normal kid. I remember our walks to Makiki Park, where I could play and make friends while she sat on a blanket with homemade ham and cheese sandwiches. On lucky days, we’d stop by Subway for my favorite sandwich.

Mom always made my birthdays special, baking chocolate sheet cakes for me and my classmates. If Dad worked weekends, we would take the bus to Ala Moana Shopping Center, where we’d wander and window shop, finishing our day with vanilla yogurt topped with strawberries from Yami Yogurt. She was the heart of our home, singing along to the songs of Patsy Cline, Elvis Presley, Dennis Pavao, Loyal Gardner, and many others while she cleaned or cooked. At family gatherings I remember her always with a wine cooler or some type of drink, laughing with her family, singing karaoke, or going up to dance a hula with either grandma or her sisters. Sometimes, she will try her hardest to make me go up and dance hula too, though I always tried to runaway.

As a teenager, Mom didn’t want me to miss out on experiences, so she would tell Dad she was tagging along with me and my friends. When we went to the movies or the mall, she’d drop me off and go somewhere else—where? I never bothered to ask. She just wanted me to have a normal teenage life. But for so long, it was the three of us, or I like to call us the Three Musketeers. We were inseparable. We went everywhere together: grandma’s house on the weekends, family gatherings, just down the street to the store, we did it all together.

Then, our world changed when Dad passed away. The three musketeers dwindled to two, as Dad’s unexpected death changed us and our lives forever. I can’t fully express the depth of her loss—she had lost the love of her life, her partner in crime. Yet, through her grief, she remained focused on my future, encouraging me to finish high school, go to college, and grow to be able to support myself. Mom was fiercely independent and never wanted to be a burden. Even after I got married and started my own family, we wanted her to move in with us, even when we had a room for her, she resisted moving in with us. She loved what she had: her life with us, Lyle, her job at Home Depot and all the family functions. When it was time to move back to the mainland in Jan 2022, we tried to convince her to come along, at least one last time. But she wanted to stay in Hawaii. She was stubborn and did not want to leave, but we never gave up.

Then about a year ago, she made the decision to join us in Southern California. We cherished the past 10 months together, visiting Disneyland, SeaWorld, Universal Studios, watching the kids compete in jiu-jitsu tournaments, taking her to Las Vegas, and even making her ride the tallest, fastest wooden roller coaster on the West Coast-The Ghost Rider. To be honest, neither of us knew how scary it would be, and she kept her eyes closed the entire ride.

She got to witness her grandkids’ daily lives—seeing them wake up for school, comforting them when they fought or if Chris and I scolded them for something, and making them Nutella bread, hamburger steak or whatever they asked for. She would even defend Chris and scold me to not get mad at him if we had a disagreement. We were so happy to have her here and witness her daily routine, watching her enjoy her favorite shows on her chair, hearing her scream for her beloved cowboys, and hanging out with us as we create so many memories that feel like a beautiful dream.

On August 21, 2024, she left us suddenly. I will never forget that call, hearing her voice for the last time, and seeing her as she looked so peaceful. I never imagined that this day would come so soon. I had hoped for at least a few more decades of life, laughter, craziness, and love. We all had hoped to finally see her hang that orange apron up for good and enjoy her time at home with us. She often said she wasn’t that kind of grandma, and she was right. She remained the same strong, independent, and stubborn woman I grew up with—always wanting things done her way. But truly, she was the best kind of grandma for them. Giving them tough love when they needed it, teaching them about life and its life lessons, how to care for yourself, and that you don’t need all the extra things in life, just each other.

Her legacy, spirit and energy lives on in myself, and her five grandchildren: Brooklenn, Axton, Madison, Reygan, and Reef.

I love you so much Mom. Thank you for being the kind of love and care I needed to make me the independent, head strong and resilient woman I am trying to be today. Thank you, Mom, for all the sacrifices you've made throughout my life and for being here with us, even if it was just for a short time.

As I close, I want to share a lullaby she sang to me and later to her grandkids:

Goodnight, sleep tight and pleasant dream to you

Here’s a wish and a prayer

And all your dreams come true

And not it’s time to say goodbye

Adios, veles sois, la di do see

Goodnight and goodbye

Thank you all for being here and the love you’ve you’ve shown her throughout her life.

Love and always,

Your baby girl, Shantel