Shoulda. Woulda. Coulda.
The trilogy of bullshit phrases which separates us from them. All part of the masquerade that if placed in any situation regardless of the circumstances, you'd be sure to make the correct decision...because you know better! It's always fun being an armchair quarterback because there's never a false step. Never a miscue. Never a lapse in judgment because that's not an option for someone with their head on right. Right?

It makes perfect sense to me and I'm guilty as charged for being critical as shit. Can't slip a damn thing past me because I'll scrutinize with the subtlety of a sledgehammer and rationalize my way out of why this couldn't happen to me. Always well equipped with an eye roll on the quick draw and prepared to contend a passionate closing argument that any district attorney would pay to have the Cliff Notes of. These preconceived notions all came to a head during a sun-drenched, hazy Sunday afternoon on an island getaway.

I was ready to hit the beach one last time and finally put 2 + 2 together to figure out our resort was providing the floats to all guests free of charge for usage. So I got the made-for-toddlers inner tube while my mom chose the inflatable raft. Neither of us are experts at the butterfly medley, but I figured as long as we stayed in our radius lane, we could pretend to be synchronized swimmers near the shore. Frolicking in warm, teal colored waters is an easy way to lower your defenses and sooner than you could hum Rock The Boat, I was leaning way back, just coasting along on my own. I was keeping my eye on my mom periodically and reigning her in by the pinky toe once she strayed out of the comfort zone. Eventually those check-ups slowed to a crawl once we both got comfortable.

"Come over here!!!"

I turned to my right to see my mom straying further and further out to sea...the waves were lazy, but deceptive all the same since when you'd least expect it – a current would take you in an opposite direction. I began to head over to where she was, but then the sand seemed to evaporate under my feet. I felt nothing but deep blues enveloping me on all sides and I couldn't move forward without feeling like becoming submerged wasn't a possibility, but a verdict. C'mon, get there goddammit! YOU HAVE TO TRY!

Panic set in and it was mirrored on my mother's face. I wanted to let my instincts and pure adrenaline take over. Fight or flight. Bottom of the 9th, 2 on, 2 out. What are you gonna do? The urgency didn't transmit to my calves which were frozen still and no longer fluttering with the speed of hummingbird's wings behind me. I couldn't budge an inch because I didn't know what to do.

Her arms flailed. Hysteria spread like an outbreak and the raft which was her airy chaise lounge turned into a death trap and she wanted OUT. A tumble into the ocean. Furious splashes. Gasps for air. A frenzy to keep her head above water while trying to breathe.



I managed to choke out a yell for assistance to a man nearby less than 10 yards away with his girlfriend. He darted towards my mother with the precision of a stealth bomber. Calm, steady, he carried her over his shoulder and got her back on dry land. She racked hollow coughs filled with mucus and salt water from her chest. Face, hair, arms and legs were coated with shells and debris as she struggled to gain her bearing.

I couldn't look her in the eye. Just wanted to stick my head in the sand to pretend like none of this had transpired. For a brief moment, I could see the disappointment flash in her irises as our fun was rudely cut in by this abrupt interruption. I hugged her and quietly sobbed profuse apologies. It wasn't enough. I tried in vain anyway. Never before had I felt like such a failure. My daughter duties were now renounced because I couldn't find a way to be the hero and save the day.

I don't fully understand why comfort would come so naturally from her at such an emotional time, but she hugged me back and communicated silently that all was forgiven. She understood. It wasn't the stuff of comic books, this was real life.

For once the imperfections of being flawed didn't seem second string. Being a mere mortal doesn't only entail fucking up in the clutch, but finding the heart to console those who for whatever reason can't find the strength to be the idealized perception of what's expected at a moment's notice.

Beautifully human with scars, warts and all. Welcome to the big leagues, kid.