The author shares how while the couple's children were watching their father rescue another child, he caught in a riptide and almost drowned.
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"I can't let my kids watch their father die."
Those were the exact thoughts that went through my head. None of it made sense. We were on a beautiful beach on a perfect summer evening. It was my birthday, and the day had been wonderful until we heard the screaming.
A woman stood clutching her face and wailing without anyone paying any attention. I tracked her gaze to the Atlantic, trying to make sense of what was happening. Everyone around me seemed to be enjoying the beach, unaware of the woman begging us to look.
I rose and moved toward her, approaching her like a stray animal. She turned, locked eyes with me, and grabbed my arm.
"My kids. They can't... Oh God!"
Then a new scream came. This one was out in the waves.
"I can't. Help! I can't stay up —" and when my eyes followed the sound, I saw a boy — maybe 14 or 15 — in profile, his arm reaching up as he dropped below the surface.
"No!" another scream from his mom.
A teen boy had gone in the water to help his sister, who'd been caught in a small riptide. It was valiant. Except he didn't know how to swim well and the current took him in the opposite direction, trapping him in deep water. His dad made it to help his sister, but the boy was too far out at that point.
My husband locked eyes with me for a fleeting moment before he kissed me and told me to call 911. He grabbed a boogie board and ran in to help. Being a paramedic and a firefighter, he knew how to save people.
I gave the information to the 911 dispatcher, even as the mom's screams turned to silent tears, as my kids appeared at my side, and as the ocean emptied of people except for the drowning boy, my husband, and another woman who had swam out to help.
There was a moment we thought it was all solved; a moment that held its breath, just waiting to exhale hope.
They reached the boy. He was above water, clutching the boogie board. We were ready to celebrate, but no one moved. Not my husband, not the other swimmer, no one on the beach. Everyone stayed where they were.
It wasn't over. The boy was no longer drowning, but the trio was now trapped in the riptide. They tried swimming left and right, but nothing helped.
A park ranger and ambulance appeared, but we were all helpless spectators waiting for the coast guard from the other side of the island. I couldn't leave my kids to help him; I wasn't a strong enough swimmer. I did the only thing I knew I could: I prayed, a desperate plea for God to help them.
My kids grabbed my legs and my waist, my arms finding their way around them. I wanted to look away, to prevent myself from seeing something I would never be able to erase from my mind. But my eyes held on my husband, not wanting to miss even a single moment of him.
The boy was OK. He'd hold on to the board until help came. One mother would be spared heartache. My husband and the woman, however, were getting tired, and the boy clung to every inch of the board.
Fifteen minutes had passed when someone appeared from the left, a man we hadn't seen at all that day. He slid a paddleboard into the water, making a direct line for the stranded trio.
In a moment, he reached them, and they got the boy onto the new board. My husband and the woman held the small board and caught their breath just as I caught my own.
Then they started to kick, and the gap between us got smaller and smaller until my arms were around my husband.
He needed to sit, to get away from the sea. The weariness was dripping off of him.
The boy was off to the side, and the EMS crew went to work now that they had a patient. We sat in the same beach chairs, with the same towels we had used earlier, but now everything felt different.
The boy's father came and shook my husband's hand, crying tears of gratitude he didn't even try to hide. There were no words exchanged. There was just a pregnant moment, silent gratitude from one father to another. My husband nodded and they parted ways.
We looked around at the beach, unsure of what to do now. My kids and I quietly packed up our things and my husband led the way to the car.
The tears came then, all the ones I had held back, the ones of fear morphing into relief and gratitude. My husband held my hand as we drove, and he said, "I couldn't just watch him drown."
