it happened last summer

I look over at my watch and the face is fogged up on the inside. I live a July afternoon all over again. I was keeping an eye on Greta, getting some cleaning done, checking to see her play on the back porch every 30 seconds or so. I looked out and didn't see Greta on the patio. I looked to the pool: the water was moving. My next memory is that I was right there at the edge of the pool; I'd moved out there to see Greta in the pool, no safety suit on, bobbing right at the foot of the steps, nose and mouth just going above and below the water. I couldn't tell what look she had on her face, but her eyes were a bit wide. It didn't look like full-on distress, though.

I had, however, read up on the whole thing, and knew that she was drowning. This was exactly how it looks: the arms out, the bobbing up and down, the lack of screaming and flailing. I asked firmly whether she was OK: no response at all, just the bobbing. As I'd done in imagination a hundred times, I took my phone out of my pocket and laid it at the side of the pool (gotta do that before impulsively jumping in, because you need to be able to call 911), and then plunged in and in one swoop she was in my arms, well above water, crying and sputtering. I assured her that she was OK, and that everything was going to be alright. Now that she was out of survival mode, she was able to relax into being very upset and scared. She called for her Mama, she cried, she held onto me. Ron came out, Linda came out, Catherine came out. It was all OK.

Later, Linda asked me if my adrenaline had surged. Nope: the whole experience was calm and clear and, though it all took split seconds, each decision and action felt like it existed in a space of its own. I wouldn't say I was shaken, but I'd say I was, and am, haunted. What if even one thing had gone differently? This July afternoon could have been a disaster written on my heart for the rest of my days. It's not like I felt my Parent Alarm tingling or anything: I just looked out, she wasn't there, the water was troubled, I went, I got her out. What if I hadn't looked out just to check? Ah, but I did. Never experienced any change in heart rate, but man. That whole day I occasionally stopped and just let out a sigh — one of those sighs that says everything from what-if to thank-God to whew.

Parents often talk about being flooded with panic and fear when they lose track of their kid at the store. But, face it, when you lose your kid at the store you'll find your kid, 999,999 times out of 1,000,000. This, on the other hand, is the leading cause of accidental death among children between 1 and 4 years old, and the third leading cause of death among children period.

So now my watch occasionally fogs up, and I allow myself to stop and let out a sigh. Whew.

***

But not just "Whew." Action as well: we got Greta and Clara into a safety swimming course. It doesn't teach anything about recreational or competitive swimming — just how to be in the water and not drown.

Greta is now 3, almost 4. Clara is 16 months. I watched yesterday as a woman held Clara over the deep pool water and let go. Plop, she just dropped right in, but instead of flailing, or sinking straight to the bottom, this little baby who still can't speak a word calmly held her breath, floated to the top, rested her head back on the water with her face out, and breathed, while occasionally uttering a miserable moan. (Miserable, but alive and well.) She can do this fully clothed.

Clara can float till someone gets her; Greta is learning to flip over and swim to safety. How nice to know that a very real source of death, injury, and sorrow is no longer the threat it once was to our girls.