I swim where there are no walls.
Today I took an old iPad to my dad so we could FaceTime with him as he sits in his quarantined world, walls within walls. He just wants out. And I have no answers for him. Only empathy.
“I know dad. I hate this for you and me. At least we can see each other now when we “visit”.”
He is thankful. I am heart broken again and again. There is no end to this. The news has made this crystal clear.
Meanwhile he puts on a brave face and tells me he loves me. My sons put on their brave faces too. Every day, just like dad.
And I leave again.
Once home I hurriedly put on my suit, grab my yellow float and cap, goggles. Slather on some sunscreen and body glide to keep rashes away.
I can’t fix any of this. Another bandaid on the day over my broken heart, another summer of my own father stuck inside four walls. A thousand walls.
So I swim to relieve a bit of the pain. I swim to feel strong and free and cold to keep me in touch with now. I go where there are no walls, no floor, no ceiling. No glass or carpet, no human made surfaces. I can’t bring dad with me. I do this best alone.
In the water, I wait. I wait for the cold chill to subside, I breathe slowly as my brain accepts that my body is in charge. There is no escape. The next swim is about to start. I lower my hands in, swirl the water around. Splash my face. And start. I think of dad inside. I think of my sons, wonder about their future here. I will carry them with me.
I breathe slowly, easily and think of how grateful I am for clear lungs.
The air is warmer today and the sun is warming the surface. I am relieved, and hopeful.
The tide is on its way out. I swim out of the bay, following tendrils of seaweed and moon snail nests like road signs guiding me out towards rougher waters.
I race myself. I race my own bubbles that appear with each pull of my arms. This is all the racing I need.
Outside of the bay I turn south again, following the broken shells with my eyes and millions of rocks. An occasional crab. And the light. The sunlight glimmers over the rocks and sand, short waves of light. Exquisite. My hidden treasures, dancing before me.
Today I take no treasures in kind. Today I bring home unbridled joy in spotting my first starfish, bright purple. First I’ve seen in two years. I thought they were all gone. And yet, there is this one. My star. A promise from this watery world that the natural world is resilient. And perhaps I am too. Perhaps we all are. Even dad.
Mary Swims 