The other day Levi had his first "official" swim lesson and boy was he ecstatic. As soon as we entered the pool area I couldn't get him to calm down, he incessantly pointed to the pool, screaming "Wa Wa" at the top of his lungs while squirming ferosciously to wiggle out of my arms. Levi loves to take on new adventures, sometimes keeping Mommy and Daddy on their toes a little too often but we welcome it nonetheless. He's just so amazing, usually a very happy kid with a strong will and yet so incredibly loving. As I watched his Dad take him into the pool for his "waterbabies" class I watched with a full heart at how much this little child had grown up and how much life he gives to us. I watched as Levi learned to turn his head to the side, as he put on little flippers and learned to kick in the water and how he unwillingly floated on his back for a few seconds (not his favorite thing!) While I watched Levi learn all of the new and exciting movements and experience sensations he had never felt before all I could think of while watching is how much learning to swim reminds me of life after loss. A bunch of un-natural movements and feelings that when learned and accepted turn into something beautiful, something that allows us to move forward and onward through rough patches, allowing us to breathe if we know how and sometimes throwing a bit of unexpectedness our way.
Learning to swim is not an easy task. I know the difficulties it has since I taught it for such a long time (learning from the best since my Dad taught swim lessons for over 30 years). It's a lot of unusual and odd motions, it's learning to breathe and stay afloat , it's learning to move forward when your body just wants to sink and it's putting all these acts into one glorious movement to get you where you want to be. It usually starts with a kick, the most common of all the kicks is the "flutter" kick, where you quickly move your feel up and down. It's what helps propel you through the water, it's the piece that brings power to this new experience . But that's not all that it takes to keep you afloat, it's just the first piece of the puzzle to helping you learn. Then comes the arms, large screwy movements that are in an entirely different rhythm to your legs. A movement that when performed perfectly helps push the water down and behind you in order to move you faster and faster; allowing you to achieve your goal much more efficiently and smoothly. When your fingers don't grasp the water in just the perfect way though or your elbow doesn't bend at just the right angle when coming out of the water you may lose momentum. One small abnormal movement may hinder your progress forward and require you to work a little harder to catch up. But alas, even with all of this you still have one more key component to be taught... You need to learn to breathe.
Continuing on with life after losing Harper has to be one of the hardest things I've ever had to, it's a daily struggle to find the beauty within this experience. It's learning to ride the waves and power through them when they decide to hit; it's knowing ahead of time that some waves are bigger than others and you must find a way to breathe, even though it may be difficult at times. It's learning that sometimes you may not have the strength to power through, so instead you flip to your back and float through them, watching them carry you as you go. But the hardest part of losing Harper, and the hardest part of swimming, is learning and remembering to breathe in this new environment. It's Hard. As soon as I feel like I've discovered how to power through, a new wave hits and I find myself gasping for air; looking for the fastest way out of this wave of emotions. And sometimes I'm able to power through, kicking with all of my might and sometimes I've learned to let the emotions take me on this journey and I willingly flip to my back and ride them out. Sometimes that's the safest route to get to where you are going, because the more you fight the more resistance you might encounter. Similar to being sucked into a rip tide, where it is safest to swim parallel to shore until the tide brings you closer to land.
Harper has taught me so much about myself, she's helped me understand that suffering and pain come from a beautiful place, a place where love is so abundant and so flourishing that it can become endless. She's also taught me that pain is pain, and sometimes that pain will never go away but that doesn't have to stop us from leading a fulfilling life. You can't let pain be the wave that pulls you under and never lets you breathe again. At times you will find yourself holding your breath as the water pours over you, but with each breath will come a new breath and new understanding of what you just encountered. You come out stronger and better because next time you will understand the fight a little bit more. Never Give Up.
So today I will kick a little harder and breathe a little deeper as I put together another broken piece on this unimaginable journey. Today I will bask in the glory of finding a love so deep and so pure; a love that will one day bring me back to my daughter again.
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