Life's Sneaker Waves

We've been staying the past couple of days south of Lincoln City, very close to the spot where four years ago I nearly got swept into the ocean by a sneaker wave.  It was Wendy's 50th birthday celebration week-end, and I went for a walk with a friend.  We were talking, and I turned to see a huge wave coming at us, yelled to Mary to run, and made it to the rocks on the base of a short cliff, where I climbed up a couple of feet and then hung. on.  The wave washed completely over me, and as I held on for dear life I remember hoping with all my might that Mary would be there when the wave receded.  She was not.  I saw her in the ocean, being sucked out to sea.  So I figured I'd see if the next wave would bring her in, then decide whether or not to jump in to try to save her.  I'm a terrible swimmer.  It was a cold day; both of us had bulky clothes on.  But jumping in seemed like it would be the right thing to do.  But Mary found a way to find the current that was driving toward shore, and the next wave deposited her on the beach.  I kept yelling at her to get up.  I didn't want to go anywhere near the ocean.  She asked for help, so I trotted out and helped her up.  We went back to the house.  Life went on.

I was troubled by the event for a long time.  I felt so helpless and frightened on that rock.  And I wondered what I would have done--or should have done--if Mary had stayed out in the ocean.

I finally got specialized, rapid-eye-movement therapy to help me process and heal from the trauma of the event.  And the therapist helped me to realize that I dealt with the episode very successfully: I took care of myself,  then I took care of my friend.  Who knows what I would have done--or should have done--if she had been swept out to sea.

But I still  think of the episode from time to time.  Mostly I think about how ordinary the day seemed and how quickly the prospect of helplessness and death appeared.  My life almost always seems  ordinary, even routine, and I almost always feel in control.  But big events--danger, death, and other traumas--will come again, probably without warning.