Most parents can send their children to swimming lessons and try to assuage the fear, but Isabella can’t swim. She’ll never be able to swim. Even with the life jacket on—which is more of a floatation device that wraps around her neck and barely keeps her chin above the water—she could tip over and drown because she doesn’t have the ability to right herself.
I want to say all of this as Adrik carries my daughter towards the ocean, but I don’t want to terrify Isabella.
“I’m holding her,” Adrik says as I hurry to keep pace with him. “She’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be fine, Mama,” Isabella echoes.
Adrik kicks off his shoes and walks across the white sand towards the surf.
“Just… just wait,” I shout. I already have sand between my toes and up my pant leg somehow. “Please, wait—shit!”
I lose my balance and plop ass-first onto the wet sand. Nice going, Em.
Adrik is picking up speed, scything across the shore towards the sapphire waves. Isabella squeals in his arms with sheer, unbridled joy.
Meanwhile, my heart is pounding out of my chest.
I call the shots with Isabella. From day one, it has been me making the decisions, carrying them out, never having a second to relax or let someone else take charge.
But now, Adrik is taking charge.
And I hate every second of it.
I manage to get back to my feet, but by the time I look up, he’s already stepping into the surf. The water is calm enough along the shore, but not much further out, it gets choppy.
I run after them, but I can’t get there in time. Adrik is already up to his knees and then his waist.
“Hold onto her!” I scream in terror.
The water is chilly against my feet, but I acclimate to the temperature quickly. My jeans, however, make moving difficult. The water soaks the denim and starts tugging the waistband down my hips. It takes both hands just to keep my pants up. I have no idea how Adrik is holding Isabella without getting stripped naked by the ocean.
“Hold onto her!” I yell again as he starts to lower her into the water, cradling the back of her head with one huge hand. “She can’t swim. She can’t—”
Then Isabella tosses her head back and laughs.
And I freeze.
In her chair, she can’t tilt her head back very far. The headrest is there to support her. But now, her head is thrown back. She’s looking up at the sky, a smile spread across her face.
And Adrik is smiling with her.
“Something brushed my leg!” she shrieks, still delighted.
“Probably just a shark,” Adrik teases. “Or a giant squid.”
Isabella giggles and then looks over at me. “Don’t let the squid get you, Mama! Hurry! Swim over so Adrik can save us.”
My heart is still pounding in my chest, fear and worry threatening to destroy this beautiful little moment.
But I swallow it down. I take a deep breath, slip a few inches further into the water, and smile back.
“I can save myself, thank you very much.” I slice my hand dramatically through the water, pretending to fight off an invisible creature.
“Get it!” Isabella laughs.
I struggle with the pretend creature and then dive underwater only to reemerge much closer to where Adrik and Isabella are. I brush water from my eyes, probably smearing my makeup, but suddenly, I don't have it in me to care.
My daughter, my precious baby girl, giggles and throws her head back again, laughing so much she can hardly breathe.
Adrik gazes over her into my eyes. Calm and unflappable. Stop worrying. Let me do things.
So I do. I close my eyes and let go.
And for the first time in hours, or days, or maybe even years, my fear ebbs away, as unreachable as the horizon.