Guideposts – August 2019

(Nandana) #1

48 GUIDEPOSTS (^) | August 2019
the water was knee-deep, so they could
look for sand dollars.
I looked up from the hunt and noticed
a bunch of people gathered on the beach.
They were all pointing toward the water.
“Let’s get out,” I said. “Must be a shark.”
“I’ll see what’s going on,” Derek said.
He jogged over to the crowd as the kids
and I made our way to shore.
Derek waved me over. “There are
people drowning!”
Not a shark. A riptide!
There were maybe 30 people or so
in the water. I couldn’t tell which ones
were in trouble.
A police officer at the water’s edge
was telling everyone it was too danger-
ous to go after those swimmers. Emer-
gency lifeguards had been called.
I asked two girls to show me who
was drowning. “Over there,” one said,
pointing past the sandbars. If you’re
caught in a riptide, you’re supposed to
swim parallel to the shore. These folks
weren’t moving. They were trapped.
A man waded out to mid-waist. “It’s
too rough,” he called back. “The tide’s
trying to suck me in. I can’t reach them.”
We couldn’t just let these people
drown! I knew what suddenly losing
someone you love could do to a per-
son. I’d lost my first husband five years
earlier. Matt had been in great shape,
never sick, until a bad case of what we
were told was bronchitis. It turned out
to be sepsis. Matt just stopped breath-
ing. I looked down at his lifeless body
in the hospital bed in a state of shock.
Coming home to an empty house af-
terward nearly destroyed me. I was only



  1. I’d expected to grow old with Matt.
    What sustained me was our commu-
    nity. People reached out to me every
    single day. One of Matt’s coworkers
    phoned me every morning to make
    sure I got out of bed. His two best
    friends took turns calling after work to
    ask about my day. My girlfriends came
    over to clean my house without being
    asked. The first Christmas without
    Matt, our friend Derek—now my hus-
    band—came over and put up a beauti-
    ful tree. I felt so loved. God put these
    people in my path. Their human chain
    saved me from drowning in my grief.
    A human chain, I thought. That’s
    what we need.
    It was as if Derek read my mind.
    “Don’t just stand there!” he shouted to
    the crowd. “Let’s make a chain!”
    People plunged into the water and
    linked arms. Five people. Ten. Derek
    directed them. He was used to man-
    aging teams. Our nieces and the boy-
    friend jumped in to help. We put them
    in the shallows, with taller adults far-
    ther out. Some folks didn’t even know
    how to swim. But they put themselves
    in the line, relying on the ones beside
    them to keep them afloat. All these peo-
    ple who didn’t know each other were
    working together.
    The chain grew to 40 people, 50, 60,
    more. But still not enough to reach the
    drowning swimmers. I grabbed two
    boogie boards off the beach and swam
    to the last man in line. He was in water
    up to his neck.
    “Can you bring those folks to me?”
    he asked. “Are you a good swimmer?”


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