Death-Defying: Part 2

The Angel of Death has been gracious with me. Before I even finished elementary school, I had several brushes with death. You read about the first two in the last blog, both about choking. This time, it has to do with drowning.

Once during elementary school, I nearly drowned at the Texas coast while playing out in the deep water with my sisters and some cousins. We were all floating around out there clinging onto two big inner tubes when suddenly a huge - and I mean huge - wave arose in the distance. My oldest sister who was "in charge" because she was the oldest in our group, started to panic and screamed to all of us "Hold on tight! Just hold on to the tube; don't let it go! Hold on as tight as you can!" I nervously glanced over at my other sisters and cousins nearby on their tube and I wondered if it would be the last time any of us were alive.

Watching that wave grow as it moved over the water toward us, I wrapped my arms as far around that tube as I could get them and clung to it for my life, praying for all of us. I watched the wave get bigger and bigger like a brick wall rising out of the ocean as it approached. I was amazed with awe at its size. It was the biggest wave I'd ever seen and certainly bigger than any I'd imagined, and I was scared.

I could hear the fear in my sister's voice as well, which made me even more afraid. She was the bravest person I knew. She was the one of us who walked outside in the worst of rain, thunder and lightening storms, loving every minute of it and totally unafraid. She told us all to take a big breath of air and hold it just before the wave hit us. I wasn't sure why, but I did as she said. I have no idea how many times she screamed "Hold on tight! Don't let go!" to us all before the wave crashed down on us, but it crashed so hard that it flung us all over the place.

The next thing I knew, I was rolling around in the water, totally lost as to what direction was up and what direction was down, but happy to be alive... at least for that moment. I remember realizing that I was going to need more air soon, but didn't know which way to go to get it. Even with my eyes open, all I could see was stirred up sand. It occurred to me that I might drown right there and then, and that I was not safe yet. I wondered why we'd done such a stupid thing as that - going out way beyond where any of us could reach for safety. And then I thought of my sisters and cousins, wondering if they'd survived the wave too or if I was just the lucky one.

Suddenly I felt my foot hit the bottom of the ocean and I launched myself up like a rocket towards the surface of the water. Oh boy, was I happy to get my head up out of that water! I made my way back to the shore, coughing and spewing, swimming until I could feel my feet on the sand. I decided in that moment that I was done with the ocean for the day. It felt too big and strong for me, and I had a new respect for it's power.

When I looked around as I walked ashore, I could see my sisters and cousins all strewn about along the beach like shipwreck victims, trying to get their bearings as to where the heck they were. I was happy to spot my anxious mother on the shore near our umbrella - my anchor to life. She'd nervously watched the whole thing and was counting us kids like a wild wolf counting her pups as we surfaced. Ultimately, we all made it back to "base camp" in one soggy piece. She wrapped each of us in a warm, dry towel and fed us tuna sandwiches. After that, we all called it a day.

Also in elementary school, I failed to shut the car door properly when my mom picked us up from school one afternoon, and it flew open down the road nearly flinging me to the pavement. My only saving grace that time was my sister who sat next to me in the back seat; she grabbed my clothing and kept me from falling out of the car until my mom could pull over.

 Funny thing was that as I hung out of the car suspended over the pavement as it went by, dangling between my sister's grip and my own hand pressed against the open door,  I clutched onto my school books with my free hand, worried that they would fall to the pavement below me and get ruined. I don't know how long I hung there before the car stopped so I could shut the door, but it felt like a mighty long time.

So you see, by the time I was in the 5th grade, I had already danced with death at least 4 times. It's a miracle that I made it to high school and through college, which turned out to be relatively quiet phases for me. Now graduate school and beyond was a different story. Read the next blog to find out why...