My Mother's Hands

My Mother, Fa'aleo Li Davis, passed away August 18, 2026 - exactly 2.5 hours after the last of my birthdays we would ever share together. She was the one who gave me my first breath and I was the one who was present for her last.

As my family and I began preparations to best honor her life and legacy it came to me to write her eulogy.

Impossible task. 

Eulogies are, traditionally, facts and anecdotes presented in a chronological form for the transference of information from the delivering party to the intended audience. I shall fail in that task today. I have some facts. I have bits of information. Most of it out of order and shared, word of mouth, from loving and cherished family. 

So how do I tell you about my Mother? My only choice is to, simply, tell the truth. And since I am the person behind the keyboard, we will have to settle for the Truth as I have lived and witnessed it to be. 

I will start with some of her facts:

Fa’aleo was born in Manua, American Samoa on September 28, 1948 to her father, La’au Li, and her mother, Leiuga Li. Legend has it she was born on the way to the medical center. I have always accepted this as Fact. You see, my Mother came into this world with things to do and a purpose to serve, why would she wait to get to a building when she could just start then and there.

My Grandmother, Leiuga, had a total of 9 children: 6 Boys and 3 Girls. Mom was the seventh addition to the family. Thanks to Grandma’s abundant blessings in her children, our Mom became the very happy Aunty to more nieces and nephews than one may be able to accurately keep track of - and they are ALL her favorite. Mine too - LOL - cousins are kind of spectacular. At least, mine are. 

Mom was smart, capable, competitive, at times rakish - playing pranks on the village Priest whilst sassing him from the lofty safety of a coconut tree. She was bold, devoted, strong-willed, driven, independent and loyal. She excelled in her studies and even earned a scholarship to Stanford. These characteristics became defining pieces of her emotional and spiritual existence throughout her life. Our Uncle Sopoaga Laau Li Moega, Mom’s last living brother and our Chief, has shared with us that even in their childhood, Mom could always be found lingering in the Faifeau's (pastor’s) house - it seems there has never been a time when she was not pursuing more of her relationship with God. Uncle told, “She has never really belonged to us. She has always belonged to God”. ~ Amen.

Fast forward to the early-mid 70s when this plucky, brilliant young woman from the islands came to Southern California. It was there, in balmy Los Angeles, where love found her. My Uncle Fiti Moega invited Mom to a luau that his church was hosting and it was there that Fa’aleo would meet her lifelong partner, Les Davis - a young G.I. fresh out of the Army. Their love story has lived for over 50 years, with 48 of those years as husband and wife.

Those are the facts as I understand them.

Now I want to share some Truths about my Mother.

• She loved Jesus. Like - A. Lot. He loves her back, even more.

• She loved my Dad. Like - A. Lot. and he also loves her back, even more.

• Mom and Dad have 5 children: Nina, Sui, Myself, Glenn and Crystal.

  • She grew 2 and chose 3. She MADE all 5 of us. 

  • She loved us. A. Lot. We love her back, even more. Each love a different kind, each relationship unique and sacred, each precious and definitive.

My Mother had the softest hands. This was my personal favorite feature of hers. Mom’s hands were strong and capable. They could be demanding and exacting. But they were also nimble and graceful. They conveyed warmth and tenderness when words failed. As a little girl, they were my lifeline to hope and comfort.

In my own lifetime, I have spent hours and hours and hours watching her fold sheets, mend clothes, prepare food, comb hair, weave flowers and leaves with beauty and creativity. I watched her hands cover her weeping eyes as she spent unfathomable amounts of time praying for her family and friends. I’ve sat mesmerized, and sometimes, wholly intimidated, as those same satin hands waved in passionate fervor over things I didn’t understand or misunderstood. I’ve watched her long, almond shaped fingers trace loving and desperate lines over scripture, as if she could absorb their hope and life directly into her fingertips.

Those same, slender fingers would hook into my Dad’s belt-loops as we walked to church and those tiny, sometimes indiscernible gestures of affection made me feel safe and golden. I have watched those hands, my Mother’s hands, as they turned from the plump and radiant hands of youth into the breathless, textured wonder that is the privilege and honor of a Grandmother. The hands that were once so fearsome and powerful now poured out gentleness and a kind of extravagant humility that only comes from living.

These new, older hands were silly and full of whimsy: her fingers spending more time dancing over little heads of dark and golden curls than trying to hurl slippers. They combed through trinkets on store shelves, searching for treasures to make little hearts smile. They still prepared food, combed hair, folded sheets and even changed diapers, but now they also made candy leis for graduations and birthdays. They still covered her weeping eyes as her prayers changed from the sounds of pleading to sounds of trust and confidence in Her Savior over the lives of her grandchildren. Now they gestured and articulated in delight and revealed bottomless springs of affection and tangible love. They gave space and paved the way for younger, bigger hands to open things for her, to reach for things just out of her grasp. To hold her arm as she walked down stairs. To carry her purse more full of books, snacks and writings than actual “purse” things. These new, older hands were the culmination of a lifetime of love, faith, the pursuit of Christ and a relentless determination that would last to her final breath. 

My hands look like hers.

My Sisters’ hands look like hers.

My Sons’ hands look like mine ~ my first and final gift from my Mother, their Grandmother.

Her hands are now in the hands of the Father.

That is the Truth.

I only pray that my own hands will hold half that legacy. 

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/9b3d54_51ba76f5226d44b7a222a9da17a60337/1080p/mp4/file.mp4