I know it’s been a few weeks since the Eddie Aikau Big Wave Invitational officially became a go this year, its first running in seven years. But it’s nearly impossible to send off so quickly to the old memory files, due to the excitement of its will-it-or-won’t-it format and to its very essence as a celebration of athleticism and culture.

It’s been even harder than usual for me because my memories of the Eddie are tied closely to my mom, who died suddenly a year ago last week. She was never the athletic type — at least while she was my mom — but she loved sports of all kinds, from pro wrestling to amateur baseball.

Something she loved even more was buying and collecting things, which the Eddie promoted in spades when it was sponsored by Quiksilver and (somewhat awkwardly) known as The Quiksilver in Memory of Eddie Aikau.

You know what I’m referring to: “Eddie Would Go” merchandise, from bumper stickers to T-shirts to bags, which you can still spot on cars and backs of a certain age and which would come out annually, reflecting the contest’s status that year. Sales surely spiked whenever “Eddie Went.”

My mom got in the habit of snapping up piles of the now-iconic “Eddie Would Go” T-shirts, buying everyone in the family the same style and then a few extra, just because. Every Christmas a familiar-size gift box would land in our laps, and we knew before opening it that it contained that year’s Eddie shirt.

In fact, eventually it did seem like my mom was buying out Quiksilver’s inventory every year, until the company’s partnership with the Eddie Aikau Foundation ended in 2016. My dad did a roundup and gathered dozens of shirts, including many repeats. A lot of them have now been given away, which makes sense from an organization standpoint but also pulls at the heartstrings.

Whenever I see someone wearing an Eddie shirt I want to jog up to them, check the year it was released and say, “My mom bought those for us too! How many years do you have in your closet?”

So when the Eddie went for real this year — after the false alarm earlier last month — it was an emotional moment on two fronts.

I’ve never been a beach girl, but I deeply respect and admire the ocean and those who fearlessly confront it. When the window to call the Eddie opens every December I get a small thrill, wondering like most other folks if this will be the moment when it goes.

If it does, the thrill is replaced by awe not just for the massive waves, but for the surfers as well as all parts of the Hawaiian culture that come together to commemorate the event.

This year also brought nostalgia and yearning, even though it’s been ages since my mom purchased an Eddie shirt.

Sure, receiving one every year eventually got old, and it became frustrating to try to find space to stow yet another reminder that, eventually, “Eddie Would Go” (would he ever?, I’d often think during long periods of dormancy).

But it’s funny how your outlook changes when you lose a loved one, especially when it came as a complete shock. Mourning and comprehending and moving on were all demanded at the same time; who was even thinking about the Eddie or anything else, really?

Eventually, as the days became weeks and months, we were able to get more organized and figure out what was truly necessary and what we could pass on to others. Eleventy-billion Eddie shirts weren’t necessary, sure, but now that most of them are gone I kind of wish I had a few, just because.

So I like to think that she pulled some strings to get the waves whipped into contest-ready condition, just so we would have a reason to remember her love for those shirts and — at least for one more year — keep her tradition going.