Updated: Dec. 18, 2023
Originally Published: May 13, 2023
As I stood at the edge of the diving board, my classmates offered me supportive glances. At 38, I felt too old and overly self-aware to be a novice diver. I avoided eye contact, but then I realized that not trying might be more noticeable than attempting. With my hands pressed together in a moment of silent determination, I launched off the board, cutting smoothly into the water.
I found myself in this diving class after my youngest child had completed half of kindergarten. It felt like I was finally emerging from a long period of submerged responsibility, allowing me to seek new personal challenges. While many of my friends were participating in triathlons, I knew my swimming skills needed enhancement. Growing up near the ocean, I loved the feeling of the waves and the tranquility of the flowing river. Although I could swim, each lap felt like I was gasping for air.
During the third class, our instructor posed an intriguing question: “Would anyone like to learn how to dive?” The idea sparked a memory from my childhood when I had wanted to dive but had never fully pursued it. I had watched my first two children dive fearlessly off the blocks at swim meets, and I felt a twinge of envy.
After class, as I showered and rinsed off, I was surprised to find tears streaming down my face. I felt as if I had inadvertently accomplished a goal I had long abandoned. Despite thinking that my opportunity had passed due to age, fear, and embarrassment, I was filled with a sense of joy and accomplishment.
A few months later, I learned that I was expecting my fourth child. Excitedly, I believed that my husband and I had mastered parenting. I was experienced in nursing, adept at managing the PTA, and skilled at preparing last-minute meals. However, the pregnancy took an unexpected turn when my son was delivered prematurely at 32 weeks via emergency cesarean section. Although he was small, he was deemed “a feeder and a grower” by the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit staff.
Tragically, just six days after his birth, he contracted a group B strep infection, which led to serious complications, including hemorrhages in his brain and lungs. He nearly lost his life but eventually came home, albeit with motor delays. Concerns grew as we suspected vision issues, confirmed by a neuro-ophthalmologist who revealed that my son’s MRI showed severe damage. The weight of this diagnosis left us feeling overwhelmed. Soon after, he began experiencing seizures and was diagnosed with cerebral palsy.
Each time I thought I was making progress, new challenges arose, each presenting its own depths to navigate. The early years were filled with endless appointments and therapies, mingled with the fatigue of recounting my son’s history to acquaintances. I couldn’t simply float along; I was compelled to be an advocate, an administrator, a teacher, and a parent to all my children.
Now, as my son rides the bus to kindergarten in his bright red wheelchair, I find myself surfacing for air once again. While I have many responsibilities ahead, including navigating special education and planning for the future, I understand that I cannot let fear, age, or embarrassment deter me from being his mother. I strive to dive in every day, though I have yet to experience that cathartic moment of release in the shower.
Ultimately, I completed a triathlon, and the swimming portion was undoubtedly the most challenging. Battling against the waves was tough, but on the return journey, I managed to harness their power to my advantage. I didn’t shed tears at the finish line because I knew my capabilities. Once I took the plunge, it was essential to follow through.
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In summary, embracing the unpredictable journey of life requires resilience and the willingness to tackle challenges head-on, regardless of age or circumstance.