The Current Underneath

I have always liked to swim.

I was one of those kids you couldn't get out of the water. The one who dove too deep only to emerge gasping and coughing, to dive again.

I have never been fast or talented or graceful. But I love the water.

When I am on my 'A' game, I get up at 5:00 in the morning three times a week and go swim with Loveland Masters. It's dark and cold on the way to the pool. It's early and I'm sleepy; missing my down comforter and puppy dog pajamas.

But pool is bright and smells of chorine.

My toes touch the edge and I look into the water.

Once I jump, I'm committed.....I'm wet, fully in the water. There is no halfway to getting into the pool.

Sometimes I procrastinate. Sometimes I jump right in- submerged. Fluid fills my ears, tickles my toes, forces me to calculate my breath.

I am no longer earth.

I am water

I was told once that truth lies at the bottom of the pool.

I exhale, inhale, watch my arm glide through the water. That arm doesn't seem to belong to me.

For the next hour, I focus on my breath and moving through the water.

I am no longer earth.

I am water.

I think about our Mito kids when I swim; being weightless, no longer supporting a body. Samantha loved the water; she would sigh, kick and stretch, no longer committed to muscles and a body that didn't quite work.

On Jacob's birthday, I jumped in the water and told him I would swim for him that day. That was a good practice.

I have not been on my A game lately and missed a couple weeks practice but tomorrow I will swim for Robert who we lost to Mito on Friday.

 I will also think of his parents, Kevin and Lorene as I hold my breath and jump. 

Grief moves around us like water. It is complex and porous.....it can seep into the tiniest of places; crack rocks, move houses and create islands.

And in time, it can carve a new path.....in time.

Tomorrow is not the time. Tomorrow is just a day to hold my breath, jump in the pool, think of Robert and breathe.