Human beings are imperfect, and we are all prone to making bad decisions. The best we can hope for is to learn from the consequences of those choices.
Some decisions, though, result in no tomorrow. That almost happened to me.
It was 1979, and I was twenty-three. In one sense, I was a walking, talking contradiction. I worried about every little thing. Did we leave the iron on? Do we have enough gas to get to the next exit? Is that fleeting twinge in my chest a heart attack?
At the same time, I was as hard headed as a person could be. When I decided on a course of action, I was going to do it and heed no suggestions or cautions to the contrary.
Barbara and I had been married for a year and had just moved from Philly back to Florida, closer to her family. She had found a job at a small advertising agency in Palm Bay, near Melbourne on the East Coast, and we moved into an apartment complex just down the road. I was still searching for work at that point. (That quest would end up with a management training slot in the local Winn-Dixie supermarket. Much more about that to come.)
It was a beautiful Florida weekday with bright sunshine and temperatures in the 80s. I called Barbara and told her that I was headed over to Indialantic Beach, just across the causeway from Melbourne. She said that it wasn’t a good idea to go by myself. I said it was no problem and that I was just going over there to dip my toes in the ocean. No need for concern despite the fact that I was a weak swimmer and inexperienced with the dangers of the ocean.
She haltingly said, “Well, okay, but be careful.”
When I got to the beach, the winds were whipping, and the ocean looked rough. There were very few folks scattered about, just a few families here and there. No lifeguards were on duty. Then I saw them – there were several surfers pretty far out there. “Damn it!” I thought to myself. They were not allowed to surf in this area, and they had their own designated zone further down the shoreline. But with no one in authority to tell them to move, they were surfing in the prime area of the beach. What a bunch of jerks!
I put my towel down on the sand, took off my glasses and placed them on the towel. At the water’s edge, I did dip my toes, and it was pleasing. The waves were beautiful and inviting. I waded out into the surf, thinking that I would just go to knee-depth. A big wave then came and knocked me over. When I righted myself, I found that I was in chest-deep water, and another wave was bearing in on me. After that collision, I could no longer feel the bottom with my feet.
I tried swimming back to shore but kept getting overtaken by waves and increasingly pulled out by the undertow. Instead of thinking back to what to do when in this situation, I simply panicked. I began screaming for help, but I wasn’t sure that anyone on the shore could hear me, and I couldn’t see them because my glasses were off.
I was thrashing in the surf but was losing the battle. My head went under the water for the first time. I bobbed back up, but my arms were getting very tired, and I was making no progress. I screamed again and swallowed a mouthful of seawater. Moments later, I went down a second time.
As I surfaced again, the most amazing thing happened. I started to become internally peaceful. Although I was still floundering madly in the water in a failing attempt to stay afloat, inside I was feeling a strange calm. I knew that no one was coming to help, and I was going to die. Then I went down for the third time.
At that moment, I felt strong arms around me, and someone lifting my head above the water. I saw a board. It was a surfer. As he steadied me, I realized that I could feel the bottom with my feet and I was in water that was only a waist-deep.
He helped me to shore and then went back to surfing. I never learned his name or thanked him properly. So, I will do that now, as I have many times before. Thank you for saving my life.
I did not die that day, but my life surely changed. In the days and weeks that followed, I found myself less worried about the small stuff and more concerned about enjoying life. That enjoyment was enhanced by the knowledge that when I was about to die, I was peaceful and calm.
Thirteen years later, my mom was dying of Ovarian cancer. The doctors said she had two to four months to live. One night, we had a long telephone conversation about dying. I recounted for her this tale and emphasized the peacefulness I felt. As a very religious woman, I could sense her embracing my words. She died the next morning. I was sad that she left us sooner than we had wished but still feel fortunate that I was able to help her take that step without fear.
On that Florida day, I was given the ultimate gift by a stranger – someone who should not even have been close by if he had been following the rules. Forty-two years later, the events of that morning still provide a comforting foundation for my outlook on life and death. Multiple permanent lessons learned for sure.