THE SHOW OF LIFE, AND THE UNDERTOW

Private Collection Destin Florida @1965

I was caught in an undertow once, and had to be rescued by a hulky blond lifeguard.  I was ten, in Destin Florida on the Gulf of Mexico, a body of water that still surges in my veins.  At the start of a two-week family vacation in a rented bungalow, I was drifting on my raft, splashing back to shore as usual when a blond haired muscle man came swimming up, grabbed me and to hell with the raft, swam me in his arms back to shore.  This took a while.  No words were spoken. My raft and I had become a speck on the horizon.  I wasn't upset when my parents decided I couldn't go into the Gulf alone the remainder of the visit, because often every day my parents would tell someone about my close call.  Apparently, I liked the way this Bridget-centered retelling felt.  I liked it even more than wild, salty, tricky water. 

Now, more than a half-century later, I am looking at my parents' reaction to my near miss differently.  I do believe they were traumatized -- hence, the ceaseless retelling of the event.  That's probably why they weren't angry with me, at least not as far as I can recall. They loved me, and they almost lost me.

Love and care can be frozen in time, like eggs, sperm, cryogenically frozen bodies.  It took a long time for me to see my parents from a different angle.  They never directly expressed love, cherish, adore the way that my generation tends to do.  And yet, there it is in my rear view mirror. 

I heard a speaker talking about the parable of the prodigal son.  In this ancient story, a jerk of a teenager ran away and squandered his father's fortune while his older brother stayed on the land and worked like a dog.  When the teenager returned in ruins, his father treated him like a celebrity and the older brother's jealousy and indignation were set aflame.  The parable is about how love is not in any way connected to how deserving we are of that love.  This reminded me of the undertow.  I had carelessly drifted into the Gulf of Mexico, and what I got in return was barrels of attention.  I was the star of the entire vacation!  How my brother and sister must have resented me for that.

I no longer have my family of origin.  I no longer have my own family -- at least not one that is completely intact.  Alone, I sometimes feel I am in a slo-mo undertow.  I drift further and further from something solid and recognizable.  Simultaneously, on my raft, out of nowhere, new things happen. 

I was walking my dogs a few days ago.  A man in my neighborhood had just purchased my book for his wife.  This man has had stage four prostate cancer for fifteen years.  He no longer can have chemotherapy.  "I'm worried about her,"  he said.  "I saw an article in the newspaper about your book, and I knew it was you.  I wanted to thank you."  She hasn't read it yet, but he has.

My son's recently adopted dog ate the electrical system in his Mazda and totaled it.  Lots of his friends teased him about dog sandwiches, dogs that mysteriously become lost, shelter return policies.  I looked from my window yesterday and saw this son and his dog, as they had walked the thirty minutes or so from his house to mine.  He and his dog were trying out new ways to burn off young dog energy i.e. water-packed dog vest, long, long walks, endless repetition of commands.  We talked for a while about his new car, which will take him a long, long time to pay off.  They walked away, and I saw the back of a man who understands forgiveness, commitment, hard work, love.  He had paid me an unexpected visit.

It's been dry and warm here, unusual for coastal range of the Pacific Northwest.  I've done a lot of dead heading of dahlias, roses, cosmos, anemone.  A flourish of new growth is on every bloomer.  I might be able to put together a descent bouquet from my garden to take to my brother in Moses Lake next week.  I only recently discovered his existence, and now my garden is in overdrive on his account. 

The show of life is playing.  I've still got my ticket.  I may be caught in the undertow for the rest of my life, and I may be taken to shore. 

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