Wave
June 21, 2015
A couple, who are very generous friends, has let me use their beach house in the Outer Banks for years. My kids have loved their place and have become very familiar with it. When life is turned upside down, stirred and shaken, you long for some familiarity. The beach house gave us the perfect place to escape the hospital routines, relax, and have some fun.
I invited my parents, my brother plus family, and my sister plus family. We all squeezed comfortably into the house for a week. We were together which means much more than numbers can describe. Josiah became a hero to his cousins since they got out of school early to hang out at the beach.
Things were not normal. They were not going to be normal, at least, for a while. Since normal was out of the equation, we opted for fun.
Josiah was a very strong swimmer. He had done very well competing for years at our community pool swim team. He was a fierce competitor. Losing was not acceptable. Ribbons of the first place blue kind were the only ones that existed in his mind. I did not push him. I actually had to try to curb his competitive nature. I was not very successful, by the way.
We all loved to swim in the ocean, jump into the water, and body surf on the waves. Boogie boards were a bonus. The beach was a blast.
Early in the week, the siblings and cousins were all out in the waves. I was setting up our area with blankets, chairs, and umbrellas while paying a little attention to the kids. When I finally sat in my chair, I noticed Josiah was not with them. He was standing on the edge of the water.
Watching.
Turning slightly and staring out into the vast ocean waters. It was like he was soaking it all in. What he was absorbing I am not sure.
He was always rushing the waves. Jumping in the water. Goofing around. He was 9. That is what 9 year old boys do.
Yet that day he was pensive.
I let him have some time. I wondered how much of all of this was he grasping. What was he feeling? Could he describe it? The enormity of the ocean was a fitting backdrop to my boisterous son’s silence.
“Hey bud, want to go in?”
“Not sure.”
“Huh?”
“Not sure how I will do in the waves.”
I was crushed. Fear was stealing my son’s joy.
“Let me go with you. Do you mind?”
“Sure Dad.”
We moved out to the water. I took his hand and we went in slowly but surely. He held on tightly. We turned our backs and busted through a few waves. Our confidence was increasing as we got in just about waist deep. He sighed deeply. He let go of my hand.
I was so proud of him overcoming his fears. Pushing forward. Trusting me. I turned around and quickly snatched his hand again. A big wave came from no where to crash right on top of us.
I lost his grip.
I about lost my mind searching for his hand underwater. But somehow we connected and I held on tightly. He was disoriented, out of breath. I gave a faint, fake laugh.
“That was close.”
“I’m going in.”
He didn’t let go of my hand.
We made it back to the beach. This time he held my hand like a vice grip. As our feet began to sink into the shore, he sighed another sigh of relief.
“Thanks Dad.”
We walked back to the beach chairs. My heart was still racing but somehow broken at the same time. He dropped my hand and peeled off back to the ocean for a couple of steps. He looked over at his siblings and cousins.
Watching.
Then he turned slightly, staring out into the vast ocean waters.
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