When I was six, I drowned. Some might say “nearly drowned”, but from my perspective I drowned.
Springtime in the Pacific Northwest. Pendleton Oregon to be precise. Sunshine, birds returning, soft dirt still muddy in low or shaded areas. It’s flood waters were abating but the Umatilla river was still swollen.
My brother, older by one year, and I lived with our aunt, uncle and three cousins. How we had come to live there is a drama of its own. The youngest of my cousins, an intimidating 1 1/2 times my age, was the only girl in the family, other than my aunt. Two adults, four boys and one girl in a small 2 1/2 bedroom house caused a lot of friction at times.
I drowned on a Saturday afternoon due to spring fever, and my aunts desire to have a few moments of undisturbed quiet in the house. Or the opportunity to finish house cleaning without a six year old underfoot. I don’t remember exactly.
Being the only girl child, and this was 1965, my cousin was unduly called upon to help my aunt with said cleaning. My other cousins, 10 and 12, along with my brother had gone with my uncle. Where, I can’t recall, but that left me to frustrate the efforts of both aunt and cousin. Unintentionally, my best skill at that age.
When finally released from her slavery, my cousin asked if she could go for a walk along the river.
Six years old, but I still understood she wanted away from me; as well as the risk of being called back into service by my aunt. Consent was granted with an attachment. "Take your cousin".
My cousin wanted to argue. This nine year old girl was the only one in the household that would even consider challenging my aunt. I remember the two of them standing across the room from each other, my cousin squared up and ready to battle. My aunt turned part way toward her, said nothing, but as their eyes met, my cousin recognized defeat.
The initial excitement I felt at the thought of a river adventure faded. Nervousness and dread displaced it. There were already tensions in the house from the insertion of two more children, consuming the already limited resources they had . Bluntly, my cousin was pissed off. Instead of an adventure, she now had to babysit.
I put on my red rubber boots and tried to stay close to my cousin as she made her way to the bridge about ½ mile upriver. Angry, she wanted to ditch me, but slowed whenever I fell more than about 50 ft behind.
After we crossed the bridge and made our way down the slope to the river, we headed down stream through light brush. My red rubber boots were good for puddles and shallow mud, but found no traction on the spray wet rocks. As I lost sight of my cousin fear replaced nervousness. I did not fear the challenging patches of brush. I did not fear the river. I feared the wrath of my cousin if I could not keep up. I hurried as best I could, with no idea how far I was lagging.
Maybe 200 ft downstream I was faced with a wall of brush that extended from the river’s edge to the steep bank on my right. Anxious and in a hurry I saw rocks poking up out of the water, almost like stepping stones, around the tall foliage. Holding onto branches I stepped out on the rocks. I felt trepidation. The wet stones were a bad choice, but I was committed now. I wasn’t concerned with my cousin anymore. I knew I was in real trouble. My muscles had tensed as I tried to balance on the slippery surface. With my next step both feet slipped and I fell face first into the water.
I felt shock and surprise. I was aware of the surface above me, the rocks of the riverbed below. The water twisted and spun me around. I lost my bearings for...I don't know how long. Suddenly, for just a moment, everything slowed. I quit struggling. I felt calm, clear. I remember feeling that it was ok. Not peaceful, just ok. I felt the cold of the water. I did not feel panic.
Through the water, I saw a figure standing on the far side dike. I drowned.
I heard voices and much activity before I opened my eyes. They opened to my aunt, a police officer, my cousin standing back behind several people I didn’t know. I was home, naked in my bed.
I didn’t understand what happened, or what was happening. I was told a lady got me out of the water. Had rescued me. I didn’t understand. Other than all the commotion and I was naked, I felt normal. Like nothing had happened. I just woke up to all these people.
To this day, I don’t believe it humanly possible to cross that river. But I am convinced the figure I saw on the dike saved me. You can believe in angels or not believe... but I know one.
This was my actual experience. No fiction here. No embellishment. I remember these parts of this day like it was yesterday. Since that day, I have felt fear countless times for numerous reasons. With one exception. I don’t fear death.