MAILBAG:

A son dies, another paralyzed for life. As parents, as humans, we ache for the families who endure these tragedies. Their lives are changed forever and we understand finding answers, getting justice becomes a mission.

Two families are suing Newport Beach for these horrible events in the waters of Newport.

The horrible truth is, we can’t stop these tragedies and defend Mother Nature. The city has done its best. The danger signs are posted at every entrance to the beach. Warning signs are displayed on every lifeguard stand.

Our lifeguards have saved tens of thousands from ocean peril, yet tragedies still occur.

Every local surfer has watched an unsuspecting swimmer get sucked out into treacherous riptides, take massive punishment in pounding surf or walk the rocks during precarious conditions.

Many times, they’ve jumped to the rescue before lifeguards are available.

Short of tethering every beachgoer to the sand, there’s no sign, lifeguard tower, weigh station, or warning system that will keep every beachgoer from “giving it a go.”

People will continue to grace our shores from far and wide, with little understanding of the ocean.

The blue skies, warm sands and crystal water will draw them to the surf. When they show up, I hope their life experiences and common sense take over.

Our city is doing the best job known to man, but mankind can’t be responsible for a dangerous combination of poor judgment and Mother Nature.

GARY CRANE

Newport Beach

Thinking of Mom in little things every day

I remember the day my father told me that mom’s cancer had spread, that she would probably not get better, that it could be a matter of weeks, or maybe months.

I sat holding the phone in silence, my throat tight with the onset of tears. When I try to think of memories of Mom, I have a hard time coming up with anything grand and momentous. Instead, I remember things that are every day and almost mundane. I remember setting the table and putting down hotpads so that Mom could set down a pan of stir-fried green beans. I remember the two of us folding laundry on the bed while the baby slept next to the pile of clothes. I remember singing silly songs together in the car on the way home from school.

Instead of remembering specific dates and events, I remember cycles, seasons and routines. Every October she asked us what we wanted to be for Halloween and made our costumes: a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle one year; another, a Hershey’s bar. In the fall she took us to soccer practice at Balearic Park, in the spring to baseball practice at TeWinkle School and in the summer to Junior Lifeguards at the Newport Beach pier.

Every Tuesday we went to the after-school parents’ art co-op called art workshop at the Methodist church on Baker and Mesa Verde West. Every Thursday she dragged us, kicking and screaming, to Kumon math lessons in a strip mall on Mesa Verde East. Every Sunday we attended services at the local Mormon church on Adams and Placentia.

Mom passed away at our home in Costa Mesa in the early morning on Dec. 16, 2008, the week before Christmas. In the days after her death I found myself groping for a memory upon which to pin some sort of lasting memorial. And yet I couldn’t come up with an individual memory that I could showcase as particularly remarkable or extraordinary. I only remembered everyday routines. Does this mean that she didn’t do anything remarkable or extraordinary?

Just the opposite. The fact that I just remember seasons and routines, and not grand events, shows the awesome significance of what Mom did for us, her children. Her love and care were all around us. Only now, as we grow older, do we begin to fully appreciate the magnitude of what she has done for us every day of our lives.

I think of Mom especially in small moments with my children: nursing the baby, singing silly songs in the car, chatting with Isaiah as he sits on the potty, cheerful and conversational. In these small moments, I understand how she felt about me.

Understanding her and how she loved us helps to clarify my own personal understanding of God — God who created our bodies, the world in which we live, the air we

Having received such tremendous love, we can never reciprocate. We can only be grateful.

This is our faith, our hope, our expectation. This is the world in which we live.

MELISSA INOUYE

China