Screaming For My Mother

I WAS STANDING RIGHT on the edge of the cliff.  It had to be at least a 50, no, maybe a 100 foot drop.  Jagged rocks all the way down to a rough sea albeit a wash of brilliant indigo blue and white water as the waves smashed against the rocks beneath me.   I had sweat dripping down, into and out of every orifice.  The Hawaii sun was hot and it was boring down on me and into my soul.  I knew what I had come here to do.  

I opened my mouth and let out the loudest, deepest, darkest scream I had ever heard come from my own mouth.  Not the scream you do when someone scares you but the scream you do when you’re standing on the edge of the cliff asking someone out there if they can hear you.  If they can give you a break.  Or at least, give you a sign.  One of those screams that comes from a place inside of you that you didn’t know existed.  It almost took over my body, my throat, my being.  It was as if I had unleashed something that had been locked up inside of me since I was a child.

Sitting a few feet behind me on a lava rock, my mother said in a flat tone:

“Um, they can probably hear you.”  

They, being the 20 tourists bobbing away in the water at the bottom of the cliff.  Some sort of kayak group coming to watch crazy people dive off the very cliff I was standing on.  As if on cue, someone from below shouted back at me:

“It’s OK, everything is going to be OK.”  

I continued.  My throat beyond the point of hoarse.  A new sound revealed itself as I screamed again and again.  There was a beast inside of me that had to come out.  I screamed louder as I tilted my head to the sun with my eyes scrunched shut. 

The kayaker responded again with a slight tone of concern:  

“We can hear you.  Everything is going to be OK.”  

Was it, though?  I was literally standing on the edge of a cliff in Hawaii the day after Christmas screaming my heart out.  My mother, a silent presence behind me. 

***

THIS WAS DAY SIX of the reunion with my mother on the Big Island.  We had not been in each other’s physical presence in six years and we had a pretty rough track record when it came to spending time together. My mother seemed to always be on a mission to make up for the missing years and I was tired of the same old dance.  We would meet, fight, separate and then regret everything we said once we were back in our home countries.  

Being in a neutral place seemed like the best idea.  Since Hawaii was almost halfway between Perth, Australia, where my mother lived and New York City, where I had been living the past ten years and neither of us had been there I thought that the warm environment might help make our experience this time more enjoyable.  Maybe the simplicity of enjoying the pleasures of the island would remove any factors that might cause a repeat of the last trip and all the ones before that. 

I could sense a deep yearning for change from both of us.  Both of us deep down wanted this trip to be different.  To be able to enjoy each other's company and have some fun together.  I'd always dreamed of being closer to my mother. I had so little memories of really “close” and happy times. We never seemed to see eye-to-eye or understand each other.  Our outlook on life was so different.

Back in our daily lives we were doing “the work” in our own ways.  I had found spirituality and mum had found God.  Every Skype call leading up to the trip had been mostly full of laughs and banter about how fun the island was going to be and what things we could explore together.   There was no question we both had high hopes for this trip and were doing our best to avoid expectations.     

So far the trip was going pretty well. We had a few tense moments but we seemed to be finding new ways to connect and be present as we discovered the island together.  

On Christmas day we both woke up relatively early and we're about to start our first feast of the day. I had been sleeping outside on the back porch, under the stars. It was beautiful. Some nights I'd be awake for hours staring at the sky and writing in my journal.  

That morning, something pulled me to crawl into bed with mum and wish her a Merry Christmas.  We laid there for what seemed like hours talking and listening to the birds chirp as the sun came up.  I felt like a kid snuggling and having “special” time. Just the two of us.  It was a nice feeling and something I don’t recall having done much or at all as an adult.

What started as light chit chat about our lives, before long, turned into heavier conversations about what I thought mum needed to do to be better in her life and what mum didn't agree with in terms of how I was living my life. 

I don’t recall what I said but I knew I went too far and said too much for her to handle.  My heart dropped the minute the words left my mouth and in a matter of seconds mum was hysterical.  Flying off the handle she leaped out of bed in her cotton nightgown.  Her seventy something year old body, face with no makeup, bed hair and no eye glasses made her look so frail.  In a split second her presence regressed to that of a child although the reality of her age hit me more than ever in that moment.  “How did she... how did we get to this age so quickly... where did all the time go?” 

I watched her as she stomped heavily to the other side of the room and looked out into the garden. Not looking at me, she cried:

“I love who I am.  I don’t understand why you are trying to change me?”

I put my head in my hands and tried to breathe deeply to calm myself.  I could feel I was beginning to react and I didn’t want to go “there”.  Not today.  Not again.  I had done too much work to allow these familiar patterns of anger and frustration take over me and my behaviors.   

“I knew this was going to happen,” she continued. 

I sat still and watched her swear under her breath as she moved around the studio like a caged animal.  As if to no one, she then spat, a mix of venom and resignation in her voice:  

“Here we are again. Another trip, ruined.  I really thought this time was going to be different.”

I slid over to the other side of the bed closer to where she was.  I tried to tell her everything was going to be OK.  The vision of my mother behaving like a toddler having a tantrum and me as the child watching her was not lost on me.  It was almost comical.  

I reached for her hand.  I wanted to touch her.  To reassure her that whatever we were discussing was not that deep and wasn't a definitive sign that the trip was ruined. I begged her: 

“Mum, please sit down.  You don't have to go there.  We can work through this. We were only talking.  You don't have to jump to the whole trip being ruined.” 

I truly believed we could find a way past this moment.  I also wanted to believe that she did love herself fully but something inside of me knew that what I had said had triggered something deep inside her.

 She was aggressively pacing around the small room. I could see the color of her skin slowly shift to a darker shade of pink and then red as her frustration began to rise up her neck and into her face.  Almost like the hot flushes we had talked about earlier in the trip.  Behind her glasses I saw a look of determination brewing.  As if she was going to resolve this argument once and for all.  Her hands kept going to her head as it shook back and forth.  I couldn’t tell if she was tidying her hair or steadying herself.

“Mum, please sit down.  Please can we not do this again?  We can work through this. We were only talking.” 

She wouldn't sit.  She wouldn't even let me touch her.  Each time I reached for her she would withdraw her hand or arm and storm to the other side of the room.  

To be honest, I was so done with this conversation and behavior. As usual, the reaction was so out of proportion and it didn’t upset me or make me want to console her, it made me feel cold.  It made me want to withdraw as I had been here before and knew it was pointless even trying to reason with her.  

I could hear this voice inside of me asking: Why aren’t you more upset? Your mother is crying and screaming.  But I felt nothing. My heart was shutting down, closing, I couldn't do this one more time. I refused to engage in this behavior again.  She couldn’t even seem to see that she was throwing a fit like a child.  I had to consciously stop myself from laughing.  I couldn’t help it.  This ridiculous act of unnecessary drama over shit that seemed so irrelevant in the scheme of things and our limited time together.      

Deep inside me I truly wanted to spend time with my mum. To get to know her. Learn about her. Share every detail about my life with her. I had moved out of home at 14 years of age and then moved to another country at 22.  I had never really spent much time with my mother and all I ever dreamed of was being close to her both emotionally and physically. I had prayed that this trip would be different and I would be able to connect with her on a deeper level.   

But now the more she cried the colder and more despondent I felt.  I tried to reason  with her and calm her down, to break this cycle of automatically jumping to the resolution that everything was broken. Nothing was broken or ruined. All my practices had taught me that we had the power to choose in any moment to leave those behaviors and past patterns behind.  Everything is a choice and that was all I was trying to explain to her.   

“Mum, please, you don't need to be this upset. We can move past this, please. The trip is not ruined.” 

“I thought we got past all this. I knew this would happen.” Her response, dry, short and curt, as if my pleas were falling on deaf ears.

She came over and stood in front of me with her hands raised in the air with absolute frustration.  Huge crocodile tears began streaming down her face.   

“I can't do this again. Honestly, Toni, I can't go through this again.  I thought we'd be different this time.”  

We were both back to where we were all those years ago. My disappointment was deep and palpable.  My anger was also rising like my own hot flushes.  I was determined not to live out this self fulfilling prophecy.  I knew I’d changed. And I knew that I wasn't going to do this whole “drama“ thing again. Not this trip.  And there was no way I was going to spend the next week or two in silence or faking it that we were okay.

 “Well, do you want to go home then?” I snapped.   

“Well, do you want me to go home?” She snapped back.

Of course I didn't want her to go home and in hindsight I know asking this question wasn’t my finest moment.  I had always hated the supposed “control” I had over her by default of having the finances to pay for the flights and travel arrangements.  The thought of even contemplating changing her ticket back to Australia and putting her on a plane broke my heart.  

She was still standing in front of me with her hands on her hips.  Defiant, she asked again:

“Why are you trying to change me?  Why can’t you love me for who I am?”  

Everything went quiet.  I stared into her eyes and felt her sadness, her desperation, her pain.  It was at that moment that I saw her in a different light.  Maybe she had a point.  While I genuinely thought I wasn't trying to change her I know I was trying to get her to see a wider or new perspective.  Maybe she was right though?  Maybe I was trying to change her.  Maybe we were trying to change each other and that’s where all this aggravation comes from?  Maybe I played a bigger role in this drama than I thought?  Maybe my need to control things or change people was the problem?

I only wanted her to see that if she was able to see things differently she could break herself free from these chains that she constantly puts herself in.  I had wrestled with my own personal truths and beliefs these last few years so I knew that it could be done.  I was only trying to show her that she might be happier if she was open to changing some things about herself and her life. 

“Mum, I love you and I know that change can be hard.  You are so strong and you’ve done so much in your life.  I want you to be happy.  Truly happy.  That is all I have ever wanted for you.  That’s the only reason I say these things.  You deserve to be happy and you can change your own life and find that happiness.  I know you can.”

But her perspective was set and I knew she wouldn’t budge. Still, I tried to reach her with my words.  Reason with her.  Give examples. Tell her about what I had done to turn my life around.  Nothing worked. We couldn’t seem to reach each other or shift anything.  We went back and forths in a headlock of mis-construed words and silence.  Our old patterns strangling us.  It was exhausting and reminded me why I personally put so much space in between these trips.   

“I need to eat,” mum said as she wiped her tears.  As always, she stuffed down her feelings. I watched her do it.  This wasn't the first time.  She would straighten herself out and pretend nothing happened. 

I reached for her hand.  I wanted to hug her.  To hold her and look her in the eye. Tell her everything was going to be OK but she snatched her hand away. 

“Let's get breakfast.” 

And just like that she began preparing croissants, eggs and fresh tropical fruit from the garden for breakfast. The “fight” was over.  Swept under the rug like all the others.  

A silent meal shared on the deck of our beautiful studio overlooking the lush and plentiful garden. 

After we ate, I announced I wanted to go to the beach.  Mum didn't, so I went alone.  

It was a beautiful day.  Blue skies and not a cloud in sight.   It’s not often I get to drive back in the city so I was excited to put my sunglasses on and blast my music.  As I hit the highway I wound down the window and let my hand glide through the air.  My hair whipping around in the wind.  I had found temporary freedom from all the dramas and it felt delicious. 

Mum and I had been so disappointed with the Big Island beaches.  The lava and endless rocky coast hadn’t quite lined up with our expectations of blue crystal waters, bars on the beach and endless pina coladas.  So when I pulled up in the parking lot and saw the view I had this pang of guilt that I was enjoying the escape from the dramas back home and this piercing feeling of sadness that I had discovered the best beach on the island without my mum.  A picturesque spot with white sand, gentle waves rolling in and not a breath of wind.  Just how she would have liked it.   

After carrying the umbrella and my bag down to the waterside and setting up a perfect little spot the feeling of freedom or excitement was short-lived as I sat on the beach alone surrounded by families enjoying the day together.  I couldn't help thinking of mum at home on her own and how this year could've been different.  

A part of me wanted to stay there all day but I didn't.  After a swim in the crystal blue waters, a lay in the warm sun and a little painting under the umbrella, I packed up my things and headed for home.  

Mum was in good spirits when I returned albeit chomping at the bit to begin cooking.  We had stopped at a fish market the day before and splurged on all different types of seafood and sides.  Since we had more than enough food for two people and literally nothing to do beyond the meal to keep us from killing each other I had hoped we could stretch out the courses a bit.  Take our time and enjoy each other's company.  Maybe even share a bottle of wine and enjoy the sunset together as we grazed but mum couldn’t let go of her plans so before long we were back on the deck eating all the food buffet style in silence.

Over dinner, mum made a few grumbles here and there about what a crappy Christmas day this had been. I stared out at the garden, ate my meal and bit my tongue.  Towards the end of the meal I reached for one of the serving spoons.  Mum intercepted my reach and began to serve me.  I responded with a vile “I can do it myself!” snatching the spoon from her hand.  This time it was me that flew off the handle.  

“I don’t need you to help me serve my food mum!”

“I was just trying to help you.  You're my daughter.  Can’t I help you?” she asked.

“If I'm really honest,” and I couldn't believe I was about to say this, “I don't need your help.  I don’t need a mother and I don't need you to mother me. I want to be your friend.  This “making up” for the past thing, it's smothering and it's unnecessary and it's exhausting.”  

I could see the color of the skin on her neck and face rising again.  I couldn’t stop.  

“I want us to be real and be ourselves and not have this “I’m the mother so you have to do this and I'm the daughter so I have to do that” thing going on.” 

I continued to watch my mum’s face begin to tremble as she tried to process what I was saying. Suddenly she stood up and shouted: 

“Well, if you don't want me as your mother then I don't know what to do.” 

Pleading, “That's not what I said.  I said I don't want to be mothered.” 

Trembling and crying, she says, “Well, I don't know how to do anything else.” 

“Mum, please sit down, I love you. I know we are mother and daughter but our relationship does not need or have to be like this.” Pointing to my heart, “I am a human in here!  I don't want to have this separation between us. Yes, you're the mother and I'm the daughter but can't we both be real and be ourselves. Can't we talk like real humans, together, honestly and openly?” 

I was pleading again, waving my hands at her. She stood quietly still holding her knife and fork. I insisted. 

“I don't want to have to be different with you.”  Waving my hands again.  “Look, it's me in here, hello?”

The cold despondent feeling from earlier returned. My voice was steady as I went on. 

“Mum, you don't have to make up for all the missed years. I don't care.  We're here now.  I love you no matter what has happened.” 

It seemed that all she had heard was that I didn't want her. But I had said I didn't need a mother. Want and need are very different. I didn't need a mother to mother me. I wanted her to be a part of my life but not to try and do and say all the motherly things to catch us both up for the last 20 to 30 years. 

“You're not listening to me mum. I want us to be friends.  Truly understand, support and learn about each other.  And I don't want to see you every five years and have you spend your time and energy telling me how to live my life.”

And just like that I watched her close down her heart right in front of me.  She wiped away her tears, pulled herself together and stuffed her feelings down again.  That was the end of dinner, the dishes got done and we both retired to our beds.  The worst Christmas day ever and needless to say a restless night for both of us.

***

THE DAY AFTER, over breakfast, I had an idea. I said, “Would you be open to trying something?“ 

“We’ll see,” she mumbled as she began to clear the dishes leaving me at the table alone again.

A part of me was really hoping she’d be up for it as before the trip mum had expressed that she was open to trying new things, especially some of the new artistic practices I had immersed myself in since my emotional breakdown a few years earlier.     

We set off as the midday sun was blasting down on the lava covered island.  I drove us to this coastal place that looked on the map like it might be remote and private.  Mum kept asking where we were going.  

“I have an idea, I think we could try something.  I’ll tell you more when we get there.  It’s really cool, I think it will really help us both.”  

She didn’t seem enthused but she didn’t say no.  

When we got to the place I had plotted on the map it wasn’t quite what I had in mind.  There were a bunch of cars parked and a steady stream of people arriving and leaving.  Not quite the hidden and secluded spot I had planned for but I felt like I couldn’t go back now.  

We walked a good 25 minutes up this ridiculous rocky hill.  We both had flip flops on and weren’t really dressed for it.  I had a vision that it would be a flat wooded area and here we were on a steep gravel path with a sparse sprinkling of bare trees. It also had to be at least 100 degrees in the non-existent shade.  I was glad I had suggested we bring a hat and put sunscreen on in the car.  

Mum wasn’t much of an adventurer type so I felt like I was asking a lot of her but she never said a word as she followed behind me as we climbed the hill together.  I could feel her presence though.  Steady but wary.  I knew her well enough to know that under her breath she was asking what the hell we were doing there but she dared not ask.  We crossed paths with families and groups of teenagers.  Waving politely as we continued to trek silently.  We definitely looked out of place.  I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going but as if to provide an answer, the path ended and we found ourselves at the edge of a cliff.  

Looking around, there didn’t seem to be anyone close by, so I explained the idea to my mum and why I brought us here.  I asked her if she would join me in trying to see if anything would shift inside us if we screamed out over the edge of the cliff into the abyss of the ocean holding hands.  As I was explaining my idea and gesturing to the edge of the cliff she was looking for somewhere to sit.  She spotted a rock so she dusted it with her hand and lowered herself down cautiously.  There was a tiny bit of shade from a small tree nearby but I could see the sweat pouring off her.  After catching her breath, she took off her glasses and wiped her brow.

“No.” she said. 

I knew my mother well enough to know she couldn’t be convinced once she had made a decision.  She was a Taurus and no meant no.  Period.  OK. But I was not turning back.  I took my sunglasses and my hat off, gave them to her and stepped to the edge.

***

I AM NOT SURE how long I was there on the edge of that cliff. I was on the brink of tears but I kept going.  I kept screaming with everything I had inside of me.  Sweat continued to drip down my neck, over my breasts and down between my legs under my sundress.   Each fresh breath another scream as loud as I could.  The screams coming from a deep dark place in my belly.  The pressure inside me building.  I kept pushing for some sort of release.  Nothing came.  

My mother, a silent presence behind me. 

The kayakers continued to call in response.  

“It’s OK!  Don’t jump.  Everything is OK!” 

As I stood on the edge of the cliff screaming all I could think of was what if I jumped?  My heart raced while the story played out in my mind.  What if I literally ran to the edge and jumped off?  Right in front of her.  What would that do to her if I jumped?  What would my mother do then? My heart ached with the heaviness of how the trajectory of her life would change if I ran straight for the edge of the cliff and jumped off into the waves and rocks below without saying a word.  

There wasn’t a part of me that seriously was going to jump but I didn’t know how to get anything to change between us and nothing was shifting inside of me.  I tried to fake cry and then I tried crazy wild laughing to see if that would turn into real tears.  I tried all the tricks they taught in my acting classes.  Nothing. I wandered what she was thinking back there on the rock behind me.  What was going through her mind?  I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t try the screaming thing with me.  Maybe we could have changed something between us.  Didn’t she want things to change between us?

I let the sun beam down on me for a little while longer and then eventually I gave up.  I turned around and looked at my mother.  At this moment I felt so far from her I didn’t even know what to do.  I was completely empty and I had never felt so alone.  

I collected my hat and sunglasses and sat down next to her.   “Maybe all this is because I feel abandoned.  Maybe I’m the one who abandoned you all those years ago when I left home.  Maybe....” I trailed off as a single tear rolled down my cheek.  

Eventually we got up and walked back down in silence.    

***

FAST FORWARD TO A good six months after our trip and my mum and I have made a lot of progress and found a lot of peace.  Both in ourselves and together.  So much that I asked my mum what was the moment that shifted everything for her in our relationship.

Surprisingly she said, the day you went on that cliff and screamed.  She knew I was never going to jump but in that moment she also knew there must have been a different way for us to love each other.  She shared that she never wanted me to feel that much pain ever again.  So from that moment on she had made a promise to herself to be more open and try to see things from different perspectives.  

Looking back, the entire experience on the cliff was a scene out of a movie.  In fact, the screaming exercise was something I had seen in a movie once.  Honey Boy.   It was when the teenage version of Shia LaBeouf was in a rehab center.  He was deeply troubled and struggling to make sense of his life and all the things that had happened to date.  His counselor suggested he go out into the forest alone and scream as hard as he could. He promised him it would shift something.  The counselor said it might even help him deal with the pent up anger he had for his father.  It might help him release the feeling inside him that kept him trapped in this loop that was plaguing his life and robbing him of his happiness.  

I can’t say for sure what if anything shifted inside me that day but I do know it shifted something between us. I now see my mum for who she is and her with me. No longer are we trapped in the loop of what was. Now we are free to be ourselves and we no longer hide who we are from ourselves or each other. And that is why I now count down the days til I am in my mother’s arms again.

Penned May 2021