The Life I Learned to Build

August 2016: Starting Over in Hawai‘i

When I look back on the years beginning in August 2016, I realize they became one of the most defining chapters of my life. I left for Hawai‘i with the clothes on my back, the shoes I was wearing, and a suitcase filled with clothes I had originally intended to donate. I had no friends or family there, no job, no vehicle, and no connections to help me get started. I didn't speak the local dialect, and I had very little money beyond what was in my bank account and two paychecks I was still waiting to receive. The bank I used back home didn't even have a presence in Hawaii. I was starting over in a place that was completely unfamiliar to me, and I had no idea how difficult it would be to establish myself.

Finding a job was my first priority, but getting hired proved to be much harder than I expected. I applied at a boat harbor in Waianae, where I was told they wanted someone who spoke both English and Japanese. The explanation I received was that tourists wanted an authentic local experience and could hear that I had a Mainland accent. That was the first time I felt racially discriminated against when trying to get a job, and it was a discouraging introduction to life in Hawaii.

I also applied at C. S. Wo & Sons, a furniture store in Kapolei. My sister worked for the same company in California, so I thought that might give me an advantage. I completed an application and was sent to Honolulu for an interview, but I never received a call back. When my sister followed up on my behalf, she was told they needed someone local because people from the Mainland eventually went home.

I tried OfficeMax or Office Depot in Kapolei, although I can't remember which one, but I didn't even get an interview. Then I applied at Treasure Seekers, a thrift store off Farrington Highway in Makaha. The woman interviewing me asked whether I was a felon or in recovery. When I told her no, she replied, "That's all we hire." By that point, I was beginning to wonder whether I was ever going to find someone willing to give me a chance.

Trevor encouraged me to look for work "in town," meaning Honolulu. Even something as simple as taking the bus felt intimidating because I didn't know the streets, the neighborhoods, or how to navigate public transportation in an unfamiliar city. It had been years since I had relied on buses, and I was trying to learn an entirely new environment while also figuring out how I was going to support myself.

During this time, Trevor found a house in Kalihi so we could live together and he could leave the halfway house. There was a prison near the house that was hiring, and I briefly considered applying there. Trevor's response was, "Helllllllll nooooo!" I didn't apply. Looking back, I still laugh about how quickly he shut that idea down.

February 2017: The Opportunity That Changed Everything

About a five minute walk from our house was Marukai Hawaii, a Japanese grocery store. In February 2017, I filled out a paper application, interviewed, and was hired as a cashier by a manager who was originally from Japan. After so many rejections, having someone finally say yes felt like a breakthrough. That manager was a godsend because he gave me the opportunity I had been desperately trying to find.

Getting that job meant more than having a paycheck. It gave me a starting point, a routine, and a way to begin building a life in Hawaii. I finally had somewhere to go, something to contribute, and a little more stability in a place where almost everything was new to me.

Trevor and I eventually got a vehicle from a dealership, which was another first for me. Having a car opened up my world. I began discovering places around me, including Savers, Foodland, Times Supermarket, little local grocery stores, laundromats, bakeries, Taco Bell, Kaiser Permanente, and Ben Franklin's arts and crafts store. These might sound like ordinary places, but to me, they represented freedom. I could explore, run errands, shop for groceries, and learn my surroundings without having to depend entirely on someone else.

Little by little, Hawaii became less intimidating. I was learning where things were, how to get around, and how to manage my daily life. I was no longer just the woman who had arrived with a suitcase and no idea what to do next. I was beginning to find my footing.

December 31, 2017: A New Beginning in Oregon

On December 31, 2017, I moved to Oregon. Once again, I found myself in a new place where I needed to establish myself and find work. Trevor found a job first, and I began applying wherever I thought I had a reasonable chance of getting hired.

I applied at Big Lots in Salem because I had worked for Big Lots about ten years earlier. I also applied at Walmart, but neither place called me. After those disappointments, I decided to approach my job search differently. I created a resume focused entirely on retail experience and left out my massage therapy background because I wanted employers to see me as a retail applicant.

That change seemed to make a difference. Ross Dress for Less contacted me, and I was hired almost immediately. Once again, I had found a way to get my foot in the door. I was learning that sometimes I needed to adjust my approach rather than assume I had nothing to offer.

May 2019: Learning to Stand on My Own Again

In May 2019, Trevor was extradited back to Hawaii, leaving me alone in Oregon without friends or family nearby. I stayed with his father's widow, but the situation was not a healthy one for me. I needed to find another way to support myself and gain some independence, so I looked for a second job.

I applied at Salem Estates and was hired. The job came with another challenge because I have never been particularly good with math or numbers. My boss tried to teach me how to count change, but I struggled to do it without a calculator. I remember feeling stupid and frustrated with myself, but instead of accepting that I couldn't learn, I went home and took an online class to practice.

That experience taught me something important about myself. I could feel embarrassed about not knowing how to do something, or I could try to learn it. I wasn't going to master everything overnight, but I could work on the things that challenged me. I had already learned that finding a way forward often meant being willing to admit what I didn't know.

Those years also taught me how to handle things I had never expected to manage on my own. I learned how to communicate with the prison, Trevor's attorney, the parole authority, and the sheriff's department. I learned how to get an apartment, change my name, drive in snow and icy conditions, and build my credit from below 600 to above 800. Each accomplishment gave me a little more confidence in my ability to handle the next challenge.

Transportation was not always easy. When I didn't have a car, I bought only as many groceries as I could carry home, sometimes making two trips on foot. If I couldn't arrange a ride with someone, I learned to use the Cherriots bus system in Salem. I figured out how to get where I needed to go because I had to, and every new skill made the next unfamiliar situation a little less frightening.

I also learned that other people sometimes make assumptions about your life without knowing the circumstances behind it. I was called a "hobosexual," and I have never forgotten that. Trevor defended me by saying, "She earns her keep. She cleans and cooks. She helps me when I don't know how to do something. She keeps me out of trouble." He never doubted my worth, and I will always be grateful for that. He understood what I contributed, even when other people chose to judge me.

April 20, 2021: Marrying the Love of My Life

For a long time, I wanted to marry Trevor, but I believed I needed to have a divorce finalized before I could do so. I contacted an attorney's office to find out what I needed to do, only to discover that I had never been legally married in the first place. There was no divorce to finalize, and I was free to marry the man I loved.

Trevor and I married on April 20, 2021. By then, I had lived through years of uncertainty, job rejections, unfamiliar places, and challenges that forced me to learn how to manage life for myself. I had grown in ways I could not have anticipated when I first left for Hawai‘i. Marriage was an important part of my story, but so was the person I had become along the way.

What Those Years Taught Me

Sometimes, when I think back to August 2016, I wish I could sit beside the woman I was then. I would tell her that I know how frightened and uncertain she must feel, even if she doesn't want anyone to see it. I would tell her that she doesn't have to understand everything right now or have her whole life figured out before taking the next step. I would tell her that the places she will go, the people she will meet, and the things she will learn are going to change her in ways she cannot yet imagine. Most of all, I would tell her that she is going to be all right, even on the days when she cannot see how.

I wish I could tell her that the little things she is going to accomplish will matter more than she realizes. The first job, the first paycheck, the first time she finds her way around an unfamiliar place without feeling lost, and the first time she solves a problem without needing someone else to do it for her will all become part of something bigger. The things that once made her nervous will gradually become ordinary parts of her life. She will learn to make difficult phone calls, find work, manage a home, travel on her own, and speak up for herself. She will make mistakes, feel embarrassed, and sometimes wonder whether she is capable of doing what life is asking of her. Then she will find a way to do it anyway.

I wasn't always strong in the way people tend to imagine strength. Sometimes strength meant getting out of bed and trying again. Sometimes it meant walking home with groceries because that was what I could manage. Sometimes it meant admitting that I didn't know how to do something and finding a way to learn. There were moments when I felt alone and missed having someone to lean on. I didn't suddenly become fearless. I simply learned that fear didn't have to make my decisions for me.

I also want my family to understand that I didn't accomplish everything because I never needed anyone. I needed kindness, opportunities, and people who were willing to see me for who I was rather than make assumptions about where I came from or what I could do. I will always remember the people who gave me a chance when others wouldn't, and I will always be grateful to Trevor for seeing my worth and defending it when I struggled to defend it myself. When he said, "She earns her keep," he was standing up for the person he knew me to be. Those words stayed with me because being seen, especially when you have felt overlooked, can mean more than people realize.

To my family, especially those who will read this long after I am gone, I hope you can picture me as a real person, not just a name in a family tree. Picture me standing in an unfamiliar place, trying to figure out what to do next. Picture me filling out job applications, waiting for calls that never came, and feeling that little spark of hope when someone finally gave me a chance. Picture me learning things I had never needed to learn before, sometimes getting them wrong, sometimes laughing at myself, and finding a way to keep going. I hope you can see the ordinary woman behind these memories, a woman who was still learning, still hoping, and still trying to make a good life out of the circumstances she had.

When I left for Hawaii in August 2016, I had no idea what the coming years would ask of me. By the time Trevor and I married on April 20, 2021, I had learned so much about the world, about other people, and about myself. I had learned that I could begin again, build a life in a place where I once knew no one, and become more capable than I had ever given myself credit for being.

If I could leave my family with one thing, it would be this: please don't underestimate yourself when life takes you somewhere you never planned to go. You may not feel brave. You may not know what you are doing. You may have to learn everything the hard way, one small step at a time. But give yourself the chance to discover what you can do. Be patient with yourself. Remember the people who help you, and don't let the people who turn you away decide what you are worth.

I wish I could say that I knew, all those years ago, how things would turn out. I didn't. I was simply doing the best I could with the life in front of me. Looking back now, I feel tenderness for the woman who kept showing up, even when she was tired, uncertain, or scared. I wish I could take her hand and let her know that every little step mattered, including the ones nobody else saw.

That woman was me. She was learning how to find her way, and she never gave up on herself completely. I am proud of her. I am proud of the life she kept working to build, and I am proud to be able to tell her story now.

When my family reads these words, I hope they feel that they know me a little better. I hope they understand that behind the dates and places was a woman with worries, hopes, disappointments, and dreams, a woman who wanted to belong, to be loved, and to make something good of her life. I hope they remember not only what I went through, but how I kept going. And if one day someone in my family finds themselves standing at the beginning of an unfamiliar chapter, wondering whether they have what it takes, I hope my story reminds them that they don't need to know the whole way forward. Sometimes, all they need is the courage to take the next step.

Lenore Arcala-Hipol-Casing Obituary

Lenore Evelyn Barron-Arcala-Hipol-Casing

January 8, 1923 – February 21, 1997

Lenore Evelyn Barron-Arcala-Hipol-Casing was a woman whose life brought together several generations, cultures, and family histories. Born in Detroit, Michigan, in 1923, she came from a deeply rooted French Canadian family and later became part of a Filipino American family through marriage. Today, she is remembered not only as a mother, wife, and grandmother, but as one of the earliest known family genealogists in her generation.

For our family, Lenore's importance reaches beyond the dates recorded beside her name. She was someone who understood that a family's history was worth preserving. Beginning in the 1960s, she devoted time to researching the people who came before her, creating a foundation that later generations could continue to build upon.

Early Life

Lenore Evelyn Barron was born on January 8, 1923, in Detroit, Michigan, to Harvey Joseph Barron and Susan Laurain.

Her parents represented two established French Canadian family lines connected to the Detroit and Windsor region. Her father, Harvey Joseph Barron, was born in Windsor, Ontario, in 1887, while her mother, Susan Laurain, was born in Detroit in 1885. Their families had longstanding connections to the French Canadian communities on both sides of the Detroit River.

Through her parents, Lenore inherited a rich French Canadian ancestry that extended through families including the Barron, Laurain, Lorrain, Lauzon, Ouellet, Paquet, Roe, and related lines. Many of these families had roots in Québec before establishing themselves in Ontario and Michigan.

Lenore was therefore born into a family whose history already crossed borders and generations. Her own life would continue that tradition of connecting different places and cultures.

Family and Marriage

In 1940, Lenore married Mamerto Agan Arcala, a Filipino immigrant born in Vigan, Ilocos Sur, Philippines, on May 10, 1908. Their marriage joined Lenore's French Canadian heritage with Mamerto's Filipino, specifically Ilocano, heritage.

This union became an important part of the family's history. Through Lenore and Mamerto, French Canadian and Filipino ancestry became part of the same family line, creating a multicultural heritage that would continue through their descendants.

Mamerto died in Detroit in February 1956, at the age of 47.

Lenore later married Mauro Hipol, who was born in the Philippines in 1904 and died in Michigan in 1985. Their family included Michael Monroe Hipol, born in 1962. Genealogical records identify Lenore as Michael's mother and Mauro as his father.

Lenore's family consequently carried several surnames and ancestral traditions, including Barron, Laurain, Arcala, and Hipol. Rather than representing separate histories, these names became interconnected branches of one extended family.

A Genealogist Before the Digital Age

Perhaps the most meaningful part of Lenore's legacy is her work as a family historian.

During the 1960s, Lenore began researching her genealogy. This was long before genealogy became an online activity. There were no searchable digital census records, online family trees, or DNA databases available to help researchers find distant relatives.

Genealogy required patience and persistence.

Researchers had to work with paper records, family documents, handwritten notes, correspondence, libraries, churches, cemeteries, and whatever information could be obtained from relatives. Lenore undertook that work because she wanted to know where her family came from and how the generations were connected.

Her research preserved information that might otherwise have disappeared as older generations passed away.

That makes her work especially meaningful today.

Decades after Lenore began her research, later generations were able to revisit the family information she had gathered and compare it with newly available genealogical records. Names could be searched across databases, historical documents could be examined digitally, and family relationships could be reconstructed in ways that were not possible during Lenore's lifetime.

Some of the French Canadian names in historical records also appeared in Anglicized forms, creating additional challenges for genealogical research. Restoring original French names and recognizing the variations used in historical documents helped reveal connections between generations.

In that sense, Lenore's research was not simply a collection of names.

It was the beginning of a continuing family project.

French Canadian Heritage

Lenore's ancestry is particularly significant because of the depth of her French Canadian roots.

Her maternal Laurain line connects her to French Canadian families who lived in the Detroit and Windsor region and ultimately to earlier generations in Québec. Her paternal Barron line likewise connects her to French Canadian families in Ontario and Michigan. The Detroit River region was an important crossroads for these families, and Lenore's ancestry reflects the movement of French Canadian families between Canada and the United States.

Her family history includes surnames such as Laurain, Lorrain, Lauzon, Ouellet, Paquet, Roe, and Barron, among others.

The preservation of these names is important because genealogy is more than simply determining who someone's parents were. It is also about preserving the identities, languages, naming traditions, and places associated with earlier generations.

Lenore's research helped keep those connections alive.

Filipino Heritage

Lenore's story also represents the coming together of French Canadian and Filipino heritage within one family.

Through her marriage to Mamerto Agan Arcala, a man born in Vigan in the Ilocos Sur region of the Philippines, Filipino ancestry became an integral part of her family's story.

Her later marriage to Mauro Hipol further connected her family to Filipino heritage.

For her descendants, Lenore therefore represents an important point where different ancestral histories meet. Her family story demonstrates how genealogy can reveal not only where people came from, but also how cultures and families became connected through marriage and subsequent generations.

Her Legacy

Lenore died on February 21, 1997, at the age of 74. She was buried at Michigan Memorial Park in Flat Rock, Michigan, where records also associate her with members of the Hipol family.

Although she has been gone for many years, her contribution to the family has continued.

Lenore began researching our family when genealogy was something a person had to pursue patiently, one record and one name at a time. She could not have known how dramatically genealogical research would change during the decades after her death.

She could not have known that future generations would have access to digitized records, computerized family trees, historical databases, and DNA testing.

But she did something that remains just as important today as it was then.

She started looking.

Because Lenore took the time to document the people who came before her, later generations had somewhere to begin. Her research became a bridge between the family she knew and the generations who came after her.

Her story is therefore not only about where she was born, whom she married, or when she died. It is about the connection between generations.

She inherited a history from the French Canadian families who came before her. She added to that history through her own life and family. She preserved what she could for those who would come after her.

And generations later, that work continues.

For our family, Lenore Evelyn Barron-Arcala-Hipol-Casing remains one of the people who helped ensure that our history would not be forgotten.

Her greatest genealogical legacy may be the simplest one:

She cared enough to remember.

The Changing Meaning of Family

I have to admit that one of the things I find genuinely sad about younger generations is the growing number of people who are choosing not to have children, or who are waiting until their late thirties, forties, or even later to become parents. I understand that life is different now. People have different priorities, financial pressures, career goals, and ideas about what they want their lives to look like. Some people simply don't want children, and I recognize that having children is a deeply personal decision. Still, when I look at it from the perspective of growing older, I can't help but feel a little sad.

People don't stay young forever. Eventually, parents become elderly, spouses die, friends move away or pass away, and families become smaller. The people who surrounded us throughout our younger years may no longer be there. Having children doesn't guarantee that someone will never be lonely or that their children will always be available, but there is something meaningful about having another generation of your family growing alongside you. There is a comfort in knowing that your family continues beyond your own lifetime and that there are younger generations who carry the family forward.

I also think about people who deliberately wait until they are much older to have children. There is nothing inherently wrong with becoming a parent later in life, but I do think there is another side of that decision that deserves consideration. A child whose parents are in their forties or fifties may potentially find themselves dealing with their parents' serious health problems, aging, or death much earlier in their own adulthood. They could still be relatively young when they begin worrying about their parents' health, helping them navigate aging, or grieving their loss. I don't think that's something people should be shamed for, but I do think it is something worth acknowledging when we talk about having children later in life.

That doesn't mean people should have children simply because they expect their children to take care of them. That's not how I see family at all. I come from a cultural perspective where family is more than just a collection of individuals living completely separate lives. There is an expectation of intergenerational connection and responsibility. Parents care for their children, and as the family grows older, those relationships continue. You don't simply stop being someone's child because you became an adult.

That way of looking at family can feel very different from the more individualistic idea that everyone should live entirely independently and that adult children have no responsibility toward their aging parents. To me, family is about being there for one another throughout the different stages of life. It is about watching your children grow up, seeing them become adults, becoming grandparents, and eventually becoming the older generation yourself. There is something beautiful about that continuity.

I don't believe everyone needs to make the same choices I would make. I don't think people who don't want children should be shamed into becoming parents, and I don't think there is one universal timeline that works for everyone. At the same time, I think our society has become so focused on individual independence that we've sometimes lost sight of the value of family as a lifelong, multigenerational connection.

Maybe that's why the decline in having children feels sad to me. It's not simply about babies being born. It's about the possibility of fewer families experiencing that entire cycle together: childhood, parenthood, grandparenthood, and eventually becoming the elders that the next generation looks to. For me, that continuity is something worth preserving, and I think there is still something deeply meaningful about building a family that extends beyond just one generation.