The ocean swells caused us to rock and roll. In unison to their rhythm, I staggered like a drunken sailor. Christopher lurched to hold me up each time I weaved towards the railing. We must have looked like a pair of amateur comics rehearsing for a talent show. The engines eventually quieted and the captain dropped anchor just beyond the sensitive coral to prevent damaging it.
Getting me suited up was a challenge. With several dive assistants helping, I struggled but managed to get the skintight wet suit on. However, the all-important weight belt proved to be impossible. We were unable to cinch the thirty pounds of lead around my waist. With no weight, I would float like a cork because of the buoyant suit and the one hundred cubic feet of compressed air in the tank strapped to my back. Faced with failure, the Dive Master proposed a solution violating all the rules.
“Instead of wearing the weights on a belt, we can put them in the pockets of your buoyancy compensator vest. You won’t be able to shed them easily by releasing the buckle in an emergency, but it will get you weighted.”
Weighted down I was able to dive. If I needed to surface immediately in a dire emergency, I couldn’t. The weights would be stuck in my pockets and I would drown. In a normal situation, this would never be an option. Given my circumstance, there was no alternative. Either I chose to dive with this added danger or I sat on the boat. My son’s eyes implored me as I realized there was no choice.
“Let’s do it,” I said.
Experienced divers get a dive master to supervise a group. In our case, my son got his own “buddy” and a separate one went with me. He wanted to be at my side to protect me from common problems that would be life threatening for me, like a dislodged mask or dropped mouthpiece. He also could adjust my buoyancy compensator so I wouldn’t sink or float, remaining neutral in the water. Christopher entered the water with the traditional backflip from the side rail of the boat while I stepped off the rear swim platform. Our adventure began.
Once in the water, we descended a steep coral wall not unlike a cliff you encounter when hiking in the mountains. The face of the reef dropped off and we swam nearly vertical as we went down. Every 15 or 20 feet there was a complete change in environments because of diminishing light penetration. Each new zone brought more fantastic delights than the previous one. Different corals dazzlingly displayed their varied shapes, textures and colors. Teals, turquoise, magentas, marigolds, pinks, purples, emeralds and of course, azures flooded our eyes. The schools of fish changed as well. Tropical fish are riots of color with improbable combinations and fantastical bodies. There were moving clouds of stripes, dancing polka dots, and other stunning designs swimming past. Their names conjure imaginations in land lovers who never get to see them in their natural habitat: Parrot, Angel, Trigger, Zebra, Convict, Lion or Clown, for examples. These fish are more majestic and beautiful than the names suggest.
Life teemed everywhere. Gelatinous anemone arms of every length, color and width waved in unison moved by an unheard melody. It reminded me of human arms swaying together at a rock concert or a wave at a football game. Black pincushions punctuated the lines of coral, as the sea urchins were everywhere. Darkened crevices hid mysterious, reclusive creatures—an octopus tentacle or lobster antennae revealing its occupants. Sea stars of all hues confirmed the reef was heaven on earth, or more accurately, under it.
Once we reached the bottom at about 60 feet, the maximum we could go without decompressing, I rested on the sugar sand sea floor. I rolled onto my back and in the total silence of the moment, I stared at the heavens far above. It felt like I was in a vestibule of a medieval cathedral looking up at a huge stained glass window. Shafts of light pierced the water, filtered downward and reflected off the reef’s rainbow of colors, creating a massive fresco. And there, in front of God’s masterpiece, was my son moving slow with the rhythm of the ocean. I filled with rapture. As joyous as I was, there was more to come!
A short swim away from the base of the reef was a trough that dropped an additional 30 or 40 feet. The Dive Master accompanying us signaled to go deeper. I declined, opting to watch and allow my son to experience the deeper dive solo. How many kids this age have been almost a hundred feet under the ocean alone! Because of the additional depth, they could only dive down a moment and immediately return to the shallower depth at the bottom of the reef. As the pair tilted down and dove, I moved over them. I watched my son grow small. His fluid movements entranced me.
I moved directly over him and stared at the bubbles coming out of his regulator. They were literally the breaths of his life. The large bubbles floated upward, breaking into multiple orbs as they rose through the water. I positioned myself to allow the bubbles to hit me. As they did, they burst into hundreds of small ones. The tiny bubbles stuck to my black wetsuit and covered me from mask to flipper, similar to a glass of sparkling champagne! The light shined through the bubbles causing them to shimmer. My black wetsuit sparkled like countless miniature diamonds. His breath of life encased me. I bobbed on the breath of my son, my offspring, the flesh of my flesh. I experienced a Oneness. It was surreal, never to be forgotten.
I never dove again. What a way to end 30 years of diving.
My wife and Patrick already moved on to other exhibits.
As I left, I mumbled, “Will Patrick ever dive? I hope so.”
The lesson in this is you are never too young, old or sick to enjoy new, memorable adventures. Do not let such opportunities slip by.
A Rewarding Award
Our son was an avid athlete who loved scholastic sports. Each season offered a sport he enjoyed. While in eighth grade in ‘99, he played on the soccer team in the fall, the middle school basketball team in the winter and their baseball team in the spring. I guess he inherited my wife’s genes for sport. She was also an athlete in school and was a successful physical education teacher and coach.
We beamed with joy as he proudly announced he was receiving a sports award at the annual Award Assembly. “Can you guys come to see it?”
“I have an engagement I cannot not break,” my wife told him. He was disappointed that she could not go.
“You are coming right Dad?”
“I would not miss it, Buddy. I can’t wait!” We all looked forward to his recognition for athletic achievements.
The day turned into a fiasco. It involved a simple, basic human function done every day. For ALS patients, nothing is simple.
For readers over forty, Ted Koppel, the anchor on the late evening news program, Nightline, was a well-known figure. Scoring an interview on the show guaranteed a national audience. Brandies University Sociology Professor, Morrie Schwartz, of Tuesdays with Morrie fame, appeared twice on the show. The first time was in March of 1995. He shared his experience living and dying with ALS. My recent inclusion into the exclusive ALS club made me an intense observer. With every new sentence Morrie delivered, came another unsettling realization about my own future path.
Terminally ill patients choosing death had become a national fixation. Euthanasia was a hot topic. Mike Wallace brought this to the public in a controversial show aired on 60 Minutes. He showed an ALS patient euthanized on camera. Since the early 90s, Dr. Kevorkian was assisting people die who face catastrophic illness, such as ALS.
The host wanted his audience to understand the totality of the disease. Koppel asked Morrie, “Can you describe what living with ALS is like?”
Morrie told of his progression, trials coping and struggle accepting help.
Koppel prompted Schwartz to retell some of their off camera discussions about loss of function and independence. Specifically, he wanted Morrie to relate the signal that he had enough of enduring the progressive paralysis. In a bold move Koppel queried, “Please share with the audience when you will know you don’t want to live anymore.”
Koppel asked him to use the crude example made