Going back into the water

“Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear - not absence of fear.”

― Mark Twain

at the beach

Ten years ago today, my beautiful, brilliant, bold and fearless mother passed away.   I find that when I need a little courage and hope, I think about what my mother would do or say.  It seems like I've been thinking more about her in the last ten weeks, than I have in the last ten years.   A childhood friend of mine sent me an email about a month ago.   It read:

The big thing I have to tell you is that I had a dream last night where I was in a stark landscape. Your mother appeared to greet me. It was so unexpected and I was overwhelmed. Of all people! I have chosen to think that help comes in many forms and that she was assuring me that all is really well. I rarely remember my dreams, but sometime during the day, that memory came back to me. What a gift. My eyes tear up when I think about it. xo

My mother had that fearlessness -- faith, really -- that made everything seem OK, even when things weren't.   Even my friend was bringing my mother's fearlessness into her dreams!  My mother started teaching me to be courageous at a very young age.   This is my story.

* * *

When I was about four or five, my mother would take my brother and me down to the Lake Michigan beach.   Her friends would all appear with their beach chairs.  The mothers would line up their chairs along the shoreline with their feet in the water, scanning the horizon to keep an eye on the children in the water.  It was a way to keep the kids busy during the hot summer months, while simultaneously having some adult connection and conversation.

As kids we would run up and down the beach, bury someone in the sand, collect sea glass, build sand forts and swim.   I loved playing in the lake, even though the water was pretty cold.   After a while, fingers and toes would get numb and lips would turn blue.  When that happened with me,  I'd roll myself up in a towel and lie on the hot sand to warm up.   Even today, those lazy, carefree days at the beach remain an idyllic childhood memory.

On one occasion while I was playing in the water, the waves were higher and there was a pretty strong undertow.   I found myself being pulled further and further out away from the shore.   I remember how terrified I was, because my little feet couldn't reach the sand.   As each wave came rushing in, my mouth would fill up with water thereby stifling my screams for help.

The lifeguard was pretty useless and Mother realized I was in trouble and rushed out to get me and brought me back to shore.   I clung to her in a primal manner -- utterly shaken by the experience.   Mother held me for a short time, then put me down.  I cried and clung to her, but she wouldn't pick me up again.   She just held my hand and told me I was OK.

Then she did something remarkable.  She took my hand and began walking back into the water with me.  I was pulling and resisting.   I was too scared.   I didn't want to go back in the water.   But gently - yet firmly -- she kept walking and talking to me and telling me not to be afraid saying, "I have your hand.  It's going to be OK."

We stood there in the water for a little while, until I had stopped crying and was calmed down.   In time, I finally let go of her hand.

I'm forever grateful that Mother took me back into the water that day.     I love swimming.   I doubt if I would like it so much, if my mother hadn't help me through that moment of fear.

It was that day, that my mother taught me courage: that courage and fear are simultaneous emotions.   We can't really be courageous, if we're not experiencing fear at the same time.

Thank you, Mom.   I miss you, but know you're here beside me.   Everything will be OK.