I am watching a mother and child wade into the water. The mother wades out and begins to swim. The child, a girl perhaps ten or eleven years old, wades out and stops. I hear her speak. The words I do not understand, thanks to the snorkel gear, but the message I recognize all too well.
She is afraid.
So am I. The magic and wonder that is the beach stops at the water’s edge. That which amazes me also terrifies me. No adequate words exist to communicate the awful depth of this fear. No reassurance, no amount of reasoning, no explanation can overcome the horrifying thought of being in the water. I can wade only a short distance before I am stopped short, like my young friend now planted firmly in waist deep water.
She has already gone further than I could.
The mother looks back and waves, motioning for her daughter to come. The girl shakes her head and tries to speak through the snorkel. The mother goes a little further out and calls again. The youngster doesn’t move, except to shake her head and hold out her hand. The mother, unsuccessful in her attempt to coax the girl out further, comes back, takes the child’s hand, and swims out again. The girl balks. She simply cannot go forward.
I know how she feels.
The mother tries once more to persuade the child to swim out. Unsuccessful, she turns and swims away, still beckoning the child to come. Eventually, the mother ignores the child, no doubt thinking that eventually she will follow.
I couldn’t…. can she?
I hope so. Silently, I pray so. I know all too well the price of paralyzing, unconquered fear, deeply rooted, anchoring body and spirit to the shore. I waited too long.
“Come on!” the mother calls.
“Go little one… you can do this,” I whisper behind her, although she does not hear or even know I exist.
Finally and suddenly, the child swims. She is still obviously afraid, but she is swimming. She manages to look into the water from time to time. Once the girl joins her mother they spend only a few minutes before coming ashore, but they stay together. The child does not turn back.
You have no idea what you have done, young one. I doubt you will ever hesitate again as you did today. You may soon not even remember this moment.
I will not soon forget.