Letting Go of Fear

It happened the summer I was 15 years old.  Summer camp on the Oregon Coast was always the highlight of my year, but that year changed everything.  We were just a bunch of kids out jumping waves, holding on to a rope with lifeguards on either end, just in case, and then we got caught in a rip tide.

Most of the kids had turned back just prior to the bottom of the ocean falling out from under my feet.  They were scared we’d gone out too far, but not me. I wanted to be as tough as the boys.  The two lifeguards, plus Blaine and Brian and I were the only ones left holding the rope when it was no longer a good idea to do so.  The tide twisted it around our bodies and made it so we couldn’t tread water.  I fought hard to get untangled. 

One of the lifeguards managed to swim back in order to call for help.  I didn’t know what was going on, I only knew the ocean was pulling me far from shore.

Blaine was being held afloat by the remaining lifeguard.  He’d passed out, presumably dead. Back on shore the ambulance was waiting.  CPR and some mouth to mouth revived him.  He was lucky. 

Brain clung to me with every fiber in his being.  He wasn’t a strong swimmer and the waves were relentless.  In an effort to keep his head above water, he kept submerging mine.  I held my breath as long as I could, but when I had to breathe, I did.  I felt the water rush into my lungs and I knew it wasn’t good.  In my mind, I cried out to God, “I don’t want to die!” and with all my remaining strength, I pushed Brian off me and swam as far from him as I could.  He drowned soon thereafter. The Coast Guard recovered his body.

I have no idea how I made it to shore.  I was in and out of consciousness, but miraculously kept flopping my arms over my head in a lame attempt to swim.  When I felt the sand beneath my feet, I vomited up all the salt water I’d swallowed.  The ambulance took me to the hospital in Tillamook, where I was treated for shock and exposure.  No one understood how I survived.

The guilt of Brian’s death wore heavy on me.  I knew it wasn’t really my fault, but I also knew we would both be dead if I hadn’t done something.  Since that day, I have a tremendous respect for the ocean and water in general.

Memories of that day flood back all too often, especially when I send my now 15-year-old son off to summer camp or Boy Scout outings, because I know all too well, he may not return.  I’ve had to let go of that fear in an effort to let Kaleb have a decent childhood, but I always pray for his safety.

This past weekend, I was more than a little thankful he survived yet another river rafting trip with his scout troop.