Anguish by the Edges of the Sea

Prompt: Start of end a story with a character looking out at a river, ocean, or the sea.

Prompt: Write a story from the POV (point of view) of someone waiting to be rescued

Anguish by the Edges of the Sea

The crisp wind moved across my face as I took in the vision of the undulating seas on this most idyllic day of days. The sun glimmered across its surface casting a golden aura on the horizon. At any vantage point the view was impeccable across the rugged and treeless cliffs of Runswick Bay. I stopped walking as the image of the cliffs stirred memories within me.

The quaint village of Staithes, North Yorkshire has been my home for my entire life. I am like those cliffs outlining the seaside terrain; barren and rugged. The passing of time has ravaged my heart leaving me empty and void of any abiding affection for anyone and especially myself. I wondered why up until today I failed to take notice of the surrounding beauty and grandeur of this land I roamed all my life. Well, I knew full well why I ignored the landscape. I stifled the reasons behind my disregard for it because of personal shame associated with it. Now the sea was the stimulus that forced me to vomit up those painful memories.

My parents succumbed to the hidden harshness around them. My father was a fisherman who was swallowed up by the sea. There was no heroism; there was no valor in how he perished. My father was a drunk. One evening after a night of private revelry on the dock he slipped hitting his head on the edge of his boat. His fishing mate found him the next day bloated and floating on his face next to a life preserver ironically affixed to the side of his boat. Townsfolk whispered saying it was justice served for his life of debauchery and drunkenness.

He was relentless in his physical abuse of my mum. It was particularly severe when he returned from one of his fishing excursions with an empty net. His anger and frustration had become more common because of overfishing by commercial fisheries. His lack of control was redirected to mum and me to reclaim control. I did my best to avoid him, but my mum severely incurred his wrath. When he called my name, I knew I was in for a switching. The pain and marks lasted for days. The memories have lingered for years and still continue to this day.

I had hoped with the passing of my father things would improve for mum and me. Unfortunately, there was no reprieve from the difficulties of our lives. My mum’s marriage encumbered her from making a living outside of the home. My father strictly forbade it. Now that he was gone a pitiful stipend from the local government kept the two of us afloat. I was nearly finished with secondary school and glad it was near its end. My school mates, however, repeatedly bullied me about my father’s demise. As I continued to walk the perimeter of the cliff, I recalled that I never did graduate because I took over my father’s boat. Regrettably, I was following in my father’s career footsteps simply to put food on the table.

I took a deep breath of the salty air as I continued to scan the churning waters as I stood at the cliff’s edge. My memories of mum continue to flood my mind with heartache.

I remember soon after my father’s burial my mum’s health quickly spiraled downward. With no job, no friends, and no future, my mum spent her days reading her bible and sleeping.

Incredibly, one day my mum announced to me that she had forgiven my father for the abuse he did to her. However, she felt it difficult to forgive herself for not protecting me. I tried to reassure her otherwise that she did all she could, but mum changed the subject saying,

“James, I am such a burden to you. This is no life for a young man like yourself. You were not born to follow in your father’s footsteps as a fisherman. I wish I had the money to give you freedom for your life. Instead, you are trapped with me inside my prison of despair”.

“Mum, we have each other. It is my honor to care for you through the good and bad times now. Rest assured I will not leave you or forsake you.”

She lightly wept eventually falling asleep in her bedroom chair. I lifted her placing her gently into her bed. That was the last time we ever spoke. Early the next morning I discovered her bed was empty and the front door had been left ajar. I noticed some pills had been spilt on her nightstand and floor. An empty container had rolled under the bed. Nervously, I retrieved the empty bottle confirming its contents. Her bible was also left opened on her bed.

I had no idea where she would have gone. There were no sightings by the few neighbors close to our home. I decided to check at the cemetery where my father was buried. I hurriedly scoped the church and its grounds. Nothing. I raced over to the dock where my father’s boat was moored. Again, nothing. I was feeling tense and helpless. I traveled over to the North Yorkshire constabulary to inquire about any sitings of my mum and to submit a missing person's report. Feeling discouraged and frightened that something bad had happened to her, I decided to wait at home.

Several hours had passed when the constabulary knocked on my door. A fishing boat navigating around the cliffs paralleling Cowbar Lane reported a body strewn upon the rocks. A haunting feeling encompassed my being. I knew immediately it was my mum.

Only a few faithful congregants attended her funeral. I chose to have her ashes scattered at the beach where she ended her life far away from my father’s grave. I released her into the sea to be free of her physical torment and emotional abuse incurred from him. My mum was released from the captivity of my father’s horror. Unfortunately, I was still a prisoner of despair.

Suddenly a gust of cold, bitter air from the sea slapped my face. It reminded me that I was standing on the edges of the cliff ridge. It had been a year since the death of my mum. I had been hiding my feelings about the bitterness and shame in my life. I had no one, even the reverend at the church, who I could share with them. I was one step from away from easing my inner turmoil. Just one step.

I whispered, “There is no rescue here. I could just close my eyes and plummet to the rocks below. No one would care.” Then a mist covered my face. From the grey clouds a sliver of sunlight struck my face. I remembered the notations my mum had made on the page left open in her bible. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those whose spirits are crushed.” (Psalm 34: 18, NLT, New Living Translation).

And, in my mind I could hear my mum mouthing these words: “For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” (Jeremiah 29: 11, NLT)

“But God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners.” (Romans, 5:8, NLT)

I took a step back from the edge as I gazed upon the rolling seas, drinking deeply of the beauty of God’s creation today and into my time to come.

-END-

Author: Pete Gautchier

Acknowledgement: Reedsy.com prompts

Resources for mental health help in the UK and US

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