Looking up I could see the circle of light in the surface just a few feet away from my face. I could see the bright blue sky filled with white clouds and the hills that line the river valley, distorted through the shimmer of the river’s finish. I could jut my hand through it and feel the hot summer air caress my fingers in sharp contrast to the cold water that engulfed my toes. I couldn’t get my head above the water’s edge.
Something was holding me under. The more violent my efforts to break the surface, the tighter the undertow gripped me and held me in place. Exhausted, I stared straight up at my hand above that circle of bright light…my mind working at a feverish pace trying to find a way to escape.
Suddenly there was a disturbance at the top of the water and I saw a rope floating just inches from my hand. I grabbed onto it and the rope started pulling me toward the surface. When my face found air, I filled my lungs with every molecule I could suck in. Looking up the length of rope I saw my best friend urging me to hold on as he pulled. I wrapped the rope around my hand and tightened my grip, but the undertow was not to be denied…back under I went, a little deeper this time.
The tension on the rope grew and I could feel the bones in my hand start to crack as I was again being pulled to the surface. As I filled my lungs again, I looked up that rope to see my best friend now being aided by the neighborhood kids I’d grown up with. Screams and cries filled the air as the undertow took me back below.
This Tug-o-War continued for what seemed like an hour. Each time I broke the surface there were more people standing on the dock and shoreline. Classmates. Teammates. Workmates. Teachers. Coaches. People who I knew loved me alongside people I’d have sworn hated me…all pulling, yelling, screaming…trying to rescue my ass from that damn water. It seemed to be working. I felt like I was getting closer to the dock. The river then gave a ferocious pull and as I shot back into the depths, I felt the rope snap.
I had nothing left in the tank. I was spent. Apparent that I’d lost the battle, the undertow gradually started pulling me to the bottom of that river. Where the rope had torn the flesh from my hand, clouds of blood filled the space between me and that circle of light on the surface, which was now growing smaller as I slowly submerged.
In the cold, dark depths of that river a voice came to me. I’d known that voice most of my life and it seemingly always brought a smile to my face. On this day, though…that voice was pissed. She barked at me. She sounded like a coach or a Drill Instructor in her tone. “Goddammit, Jimmy! FIGHT!”.
I remember feeling this ball of energy well up inside me. That’s the only way I can describe it. In that fraction of a second, I knew I was stronger than that river. One hard kick from my legs and that light at the surface started to grow. It appeared to be miles through the darkness, but I was shooting at that glowing circle like a I’d been fired from a cannon. Closer…..closer….survival is only a few feet away….
When my face broke the surface of that river for the last time, as I filled my lungs in one huge gasp, I was staring face to face with the Navy Corpsman who’d been doing CPR on me for the past few minutes. Instead of a roar from my hometown heroes, the air was filled with the sounds of combat. Doc made me lay back down while he bandaged my broken and bleeding hand. Minutes later I was back in the fight.
This week marks the 33rd anniversary of the first time I died. I was 19 years old. So was Doc. We were literally teenagers, nowhere near a river and half a world away from our hometowns.
I’ve never told the story about the day I was “drowning” in that river to anyone. It’s been itching at my brain for the last couple days though…there has to be a reason for that. I guess I thought it made me sound a little crazy…maybe a little weak. In that broken and battered, feeble little mind of mine, that story of drowning is as real to me as my first kiss. Maybe, more so. I can see that darkness. I can see the circle of light. I can feel that cold water. I can see the people on the dock and landing. I can smell the river. I can hear her voice in the darkness. My hand hurts just writing about it. I know none of that actually happened. And yet, somehow…I know every bit of it did.
Doc did the work. The physical act of bringing me back is 100% his doing, and to the day he died, he’d tell you he was just doing his job and that we got lucky. He saved a Marine’s life that night…but he lost one too. The ones you lose always carry more weight on the scales…and he carried that weight the rest of his life.
What I’ve learned over the years though, is that you can’t save someone unless they have the will to live. That’s where my hometown came to the rescue.
Consciously, I have a will to live that probably measures off the charts. I’m not too easy to get rid of and I’ve got a three-volume medical record and a body riddled with scars, pins, plates and screws to back that statement up. But that drowning episode…the night that happened…I’ve had three decades to reflect on that and to tell you the truth, I think somewhere in my subconscious I’d given up. Somewhere in my mind, I was ready to let go…and in the deepest, darkest part of my psyche, the people who had a hand in making me who I am came to let me know it wasn’t my time yet.
I’ve heard it said that a small town is really nothing more than a big family. I believe that to my core. By the time the rope snapped there were hundreds of people on that riverbank. It was one big mass of people, yet I can see every face as clear as I see the keyboard in front of me. I can see the concern, the fear….the emotion. Reality be damned…it is truly heartwarming.
SO…..what’s the moral to this morbid story I’m sharing tonight? I don’t know if I’d consider them “morals” or not, but there are a couple points I’d like to make. If you’ve read this far, you may as well finish it out.
First and foremost…nobody gets through this life alone. Nobody gets to where they are in life without some help along the way. Never lose sight of that. It took a lot of people to make me who I am. Not all those encounters were exactly pleasant, but they were all necessary. In some instances, the lessons from those who knocked me down were just as important as the lessons from those who helped me up. Each and every one of those lessons were a deciding factor in the paths I chose to get to this point. Whether you show it or just genuinely feel it inside, be acutely aware of those who impacted your life and pushed you to reach your goals and achievements. Be thankful for the lessons you learn from each and every encounter…good or bad is a matter of perspective. Time and Distance will alter that perspective.
Second…Pay that forward! Go out of your way every once in a while just to make someone smile. You never know when some silly little something you said or did will change someone’s life. If you’re drawing breath, you have the ability to make a positive impact on each and every person you come in contact with. It costs absolutely nothing to be a decent human being. Be one of the people on the riverbank for each and every person you meet.
Lastly….and this is important….If I shake your hand or give you a hug and hold it for a second longer than you’re comfortable with…If I hold eye contact with you for longer than you think is necessary…If I say something like “I love you” and make you feel a little awkward…deal with it. I stopped feeling uncomfortable about that shit a long time ago. If you had an impact on my life, I’m gonna hold that handshake or hug an extra second or two…I don’t care if you later remember it as “strange”….I just want you to remember it. It may be the last moment we have together.
Okay…I’m back. I just took a minute to re-read this. I’m really not sure what caused me to pour all this out tonight. Maybe the universe knows something I don’t. Whether as a cautionary tale or an example, I’m just going to assume that someone needed to read something in here.
Whether or not that someone is you…..SMILE, dammit. 😊