The Falls at Wailua

We walked along the sidewalk toward the overlook. Two women had set up a camera on a tripod and were preparing to take some pictures of the Wailua falls across the gorge. They seemed very comfortable directing the other tourists through their “set”.

We passed by and crossed the highway to look into the river valley beyond. I had briefly overheard them talking as we walked past, and the words and their implication started to come clear.

The younger woman who was in her late forties was operating the video, and describing for the older woman what to do and say. It became clear that the older woman was her mother; they looked alike and there is a familiar way that a mother and daughter work together when they are close. “That’s over 400 inches of rain a year.” The younger said to her mother who then carefully repeated the words. She moved to the railing, looked into the camera, and said them again while the daughter aimed the camera. The older woman was attractive, not worn down by the passage of years, but in my brief glance as we passed, I noticed something that at first I could not identify.

We returned from the lookout across the road and again passed through their camera angle. The daughter was giving her mother more lines, checking that she had them correctly and then focusing the video camera on her and “directing” her to recite what she had been told. This seems like it might have been abrupt or controlling, but it wasn’t. The daughter was at all times, in both her manner and her touch, caring and gentle and clearly loving towards her mother. It’s not easy to identify or describe, but there was a patience and a courtesy that encircled each move that she made, every tone in her voice – there could be no doubt about the relationship between the two women. And, the process was slow and had to be repeated often, but there was no shortness of temper, no expression of exasperation, the daughter was accepting, nurturing and loving in everything that she did or said.

The mother had the look on her face of someone who is slightly dazed; a little bemused, befuddled or confused at the things that were going. She wore a slight smile, a look that carries the slightest tinge of embarrassment, and a wonderment about why she should be embarrassed – she could remember a time when she would have been embarrassed by her limited ability to do what she was told, but she could only recall that feeling, she was not experiencing it now.

We walked to our car and drove away. As we looked back, the daughter was still working gently with her mother; she was taking as much care as a professional photographer and director would. It was as if the video was incredibly important, that it might well be one of the last, and it would be the memory of the older lady for all time.

At dinner in the hotel restaurant, we saw them again. This time, the daughter led her mother toward the exit. The mother carried a bag that was filled with gifts, and she was being hurried along. They disappeared from our view. I wanted to run after them and to tell the daughter what a wonderful person she was, how important what she was doing was both to her mother, and to herself. But more importantly to all of the people who saw the two of them together, caring for each other and caring about each other. But before I could move, they were gone from my sight.