I’m not entirely unconvinced that Zach didn’t encounter God the day he nearly drowned. The image will never escape me: his forehead several inches below the surface tilted upward towards the heavens, and his eyes fixed open and unblinking. Our boy has always possessed wisdom beyond his four years, but something awakened in him that day. The Friday following his Wednesday accident I captured a video of him essentially singing praise. His refrain “God and Jesus, God and Jesus; I love them; I love them” lasted minutes on end and months later still regularly graces his lips. My girlfriend wrote that “God Himself was holding Zach in the water…holding together the fabric of his lungs.” Somehow Zach has grasped the magnitude of this and acknowledged long before we could have placed the idea in his mind that “God saved me at the pool.”
***
A few nights after The Incident I tucked Zach in. Our bedtime ritual has always been tender. I issue him the same command my dad once issued me: SYBO. Scoot Your Buns Over. He obliges and I compete against 55 thousand stuffed animals for space in his twin-sized bed. We recap the day and talk about the plan for tomorrow and end our time in prayer, sometimes me, mostly him. But this night I could see Zach wrestling with the images in his head, still too paralyzed to articulate. I asked, “do you want to talk about what happened at the pool?” NO. I said, “well, what if we have a little chat and I tell you what happened?” OK. So began Our Chat. I started at the beginning…”we packed a picnic dinner and got ready to head to the pool…” He craved every detail. The chip-clipped bag of Doritos and the turkey sandwiches. The friends who greeted us and the chairs where we stashed our pool bag. As I verbally inched my way to the edge of the pool he brought his hands to his face and covered his eyes. Tears snuck from behind his fingers and traveled to the tip of his chin— pent-up streams of fear and emotion.
He requested Our Chat for the next six consecutive nights and slowly became brazen in piping in the answers that my mind had been searching for. “I sat on the edge of the big pool,” he said. “I forgot I didn’t have my life vest on. I thought I did. I scooted in.” It was during one of Our Chats that he spoke the most gut-wrenching recollection of this entire episode. “Mom?” he asked. “How did you hear me screaming for you when I was under water?” He mimicked what I had written in my original post/journal entry—that Zach’s mouth opened and closed like a fish under water as though he was crying out for me. “Mom. Mom. Mom,” he showed me. Oh buddy. My mama heart. I heard your cry; I did.
I stroke your wet cheek and marvel your courage. I gently close your bedroom door behind me and pad down the hallway where Daddy and I have our own chat… and streams of emotion travel down our cheeks, as well.
***
Where were the lifeguards? It’s the first question people ask. In the aftermath, we have learned so much. The YMCA has been nothing less than cooperative and accommodating. They explained to us that at that time of day—5:45pm—there is a glare on the surface of the water where Zach had slipped under. They know that now. And for the remainder of the pool season (if numbers warranted), they staffed a second lifeguard to stand post at that very area. We were told they have video surveillance of the entire ordeal. Video footage of my kid nearly drowning. They used this for training purposes. Eric and I toyed with the idea of asking to see the footage. We wanted to know exactly how long Zach was underwater. But in the end, we couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it.
Zach was offered private swim lessons from the director of the YMCA, miss Kim. As torturous as this was for me, Eric and I knew we needed to get Zach back in the water. A couple nights after his incident we casually asked him, “so Zach! Do you want to go swimming later this week?” NO. And my sweet husband had an idea. He said, “Zach, what if just you and I went swimming?” Zach nodded profusely. So off they went. I loaded Noah into the car and parked on the street that overlooks the pool. I needed to see that he was ok. (Ironically, they were in the middle of a safety break so I couldn’t see him at all. Go figure!) But he did great, all things considered. He ended up receiving four private lessons in total. As I sat on the side of the pool and watched him kick and splash his way through his fear, I could have bawled at his resilience. At the resilience of children, in general. I continue to learn so much from Zach through all of this.
(For the record—because it’s worth mentioning—I never ONCE blamed the lifeguards aside from my initial terrorized reaction. If I am in the presence of my boys, they are my responsibility. End. Of. Story.)
***
Three months later, these details start to slip from my memory. Maybe it’s in the spirit of self-preservation or maybe it’s just the natural passing of time. But something changed in me that day, a great awakening and a permanent softening. And the gratitude, OH! the gratitude. Small Potatoes! I tell my family. The finite things of this world are but small potatoes in comparison to the eternal shaping of our souls. The air we breathe, the legacy we leave, the people we love, the Savior we serve. Thank you, my son, for reminding me of the true essence of life. And thank you, my Father, for using my son to point us all in the direction of You.
Dramatic Paddocks 