Underwater

Yesterday afternoon I took the kids to the pool.

When I was little, going to the pool meant going to one big L-shaped pool, maybe with a little rectangular kids' pool close by. This pool is more complicated: there's a big shallow pool with fountains and a slide, a deeper pool with slightly bigger slides for slightly bigger kids, a loop for riding big floaty rafts, and an L-shaped pool, like the ones I remember from childhood only smaller, for the biggest kids.

I find it a little stressful to keep track of 5 children there, but I was managing. The three big ones can swim well enough that I mostly just let them play together while I watch the two littles. It worked fine until Petely asked if one of his brothers could take him on a floaty raft. "I'll be up by the little pool when you're done going around the loop," I said, "and then you can go play again."

Instead of waiting up by the little pool, though, I went looking for them. They climbed out of the water together at the end of the loop. "Come on, Pete," said his older brother as he climbed into the middle-sized pool. "Let's go this way." Pete followed and I watched, a little worried. Last summer one section of the middle-sized pool was too deep for him, and I was afraid that he would walk in over his head while his brother trudged on, oblivious. I called out, but it was too noisy for them to hear.

Pete was doing fine, and I relaxed. He must have grown more than I realized, I thought to myself. Isn't it amazing how they grow?

Unfortunately, it wasn't that he had grown so tall. I had misremembered the location of the deepest spot. Pete took one more step forward and went under the water. I could see his hair swirling, his limbs suddenly flailing. His brother hadn't noticed that anything was amiss. Was I going to need to plunge in after him, holding the baby and wearing my clothes? I pointed and shouted, "He needs some help!" but it was so noisy I was sure no one could hear me.

Almost instantly, though, the lifeguard's whistle blew and in she went. She fished him out and set him on the side, a little shaken; I raced around and scooped him up. On the edge of tears, he said, "I kicked my feet but it didn't help."

I am remembering my first summer at Girl Scout camp, when I could just barely swim. I went down the big water slide and landed in water over my head, where I panicked. I remember the feeling of abject terror, the frenzied attempt to fight my way to the side. No one noticed me struggling.

I am grateful for this lifeguard's vigilance. (I told her boss about it, too.) Pete is fine and I should let it go myself. I keep replaying it in my mind, though: my little guy trying to keep up with his brother, losing his footing and not being able to find it again. His hair, dark under the water. I cannot reach him and no one hears me shout.

Comments

[Tracy]

{{Jamie}} what a scary moment.

I pray that the memory will dim quickly, and I'm grateful for this lifeguard's vigilance as well.

[Linda]

Oh, how scary. Reading this made me cry. I'm so glad everyone is okay.

[Sarah @ This Heavenly Life]

*shivers*

What a terrifying moment. Hopefully it'll only spark him on to learn what to do, rather than scare him away altogether.
Although, at this point, I'd be hard pressed to let him back in the water, myself :)

[Sarah]

How frightening. It's such a terrifying thought to even imagine.

I'm so glad that this lifeguard was watching and was so quick to retrieve him. So glad.

[mary]

Jamie, this happened to me last week -- the 3-year-old went down a slide at the waterpark before I could catch him and he landed in 3 feet of water. I watched the whole thing in slow motion and he kept going up and down as I tried to run (in water!) towards him. Luckily another mom (NOT the lifeguard. Grrrr) grabbed him and pulled him out. Holy cow. SO scary.

[Sarah in Ottawa]

Oh my goodness...I am so glad that he is ok. How incredibly scary for you, Jamie.

[pnuts mama]

god bless her- and prayers of thanksgiving that all is well- but that fear? of losing oneself underwater? is paralyzing to me, and now to add my fear for my children, ugh. i have grown up near the ocean my whole life, have had swim lessons since i was a wee one (for my kids, too) and still- there is no comprehension of the power of water and helplessness you really have in that situation.

i will consider this a very large success for you and your family this week!

[Erin]

So frightening. It's hard to let go of that sort of thing--it's the equivalent of watching your worst nightmare unfold before your eyes.

[Lilian]

oh dear, I would have been terrified! I really have to get my sons to learn to swim SOON! I cannot afford lessons, though :-(