He darts out to the deep water and the big waves out the back of the ocean with phenomenal speed. I never see him move so fast. I cannot even comprehend how he moves like this, like liquid. I can’t keep up with him by foot or stroke. He keeps slipping further out as I try to reach him. I call out to him but he cannot hear me over the deafening roar of the ocean calling him to her. It is all he hears as melts into her.
I find I can no longer see him underwater, not just in this moment, but always now. The brightly coloured clothing disappears into the colours of the sea. It is as though the water, recognizing him as one of its own, envelops him in an invisible cloak. He will stay underwater for an exceptionally long time and I am reminded of how it seemed as though he could breathe underwater when he was small. I wonder if the ocean has plans to gift him this magic too.
The line between awe inspiring wonder and magic and sheer terror is finite. I strain my eyes looking for him, my voice calling his name, and my heart allowing him to be with his.
The ocean is home to his soul. My son is Life, my son is River.