Monday 27 October 2008: Life, Death and Perfect Strangers

The sun shone happily and the waves splashed around on a crisp October Saturday afternoon as Peter and I looked over a cliff into a little cove near Simpson Beach. The beauty of the waves crashing around the rocks came to a sudden terrifying halt as we noticed a group of people surrounding a body.

We flew down the path to the cove and Peter beckoned me to stop and not go too close.

“I can’t just stand around gawking! I have to do something!” I cried. I scanned the scene desperately looking for something I could do. A little boy, 10-years-old I guessed, lay on the sand. His lips were blue. His little body was covered in sand and he didn’t breathe. Rescue workers pumped his chest. Three by-standers stood in shocked silence. A woman wrapped in a gray blanket cried as a stranger held her. Another woman in a gray blanket stood alone. Her mascara ran down her cheeks as she prayed. I ran to her side and held her close as she prayed the rosary.

“Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name,” I joined her, “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

EMTs ran an IV into the boy’s limp body. His Spider-man swimming trunks were caked with sand.

“Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

Sand fell from the woman’s dark loose curls as I held her close to me. A policewoman jogged up to us.

“My husband! Are you still looking for my husband?” My companion cried. The policewoman assured her that they were and began to radio a description of the man.

“How long has he been in the water?” The policewoman asked.

“I don’t know, maybe 40 minutes.” She shook as she started to pray again, “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from Evil.”

I looked up. Angry waves thrashed the cliffs around the edges of the cove. A red helicopter dangled in the sky as the ocean poured out its fury threatening to take the helicopter and dash it to bits on the jagged rocks. In my heart, I feared the worst.

The helicopter danced delicately around the 60 foot waves, cheated the watery fingers of death, slipped into the cove and hovered just 20 feet above the sand. The rescue team strapped the lifeless boy to a board and ran to the helicopter.

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” the woman began again. We shielded our eyes from the blasts of sand as the helicopter lowered itself to receive its precious cargo. In moments the helicopter whisked the child out of the cove and out of sight. We stood around in stunned silence for a moment.

“What’s your name?” the woman finally asked.

“I’m Heidi, what’s your name?” I replied.

“I’m Robin.” We began to walk up the slope to the waiting ambulances and she began to talk. “I never thought this would happen! It can’t be happening to me! We just got married three weeks ago!”

A knife stabbed my heart.

“He saved my life! It was a sneaker wave. He pushed me onto the rocks and he tried to save little Craigey too! He’s only six-years-old.” I could feel that knife twisting in me; six-years-old, the age of Sponge Bob and Tyrannosaurus Rex.

She hobbled down the rocky path. Her tiny bare feet sported a sand-crusted toe ring. She stopped and looked back down into the cove and wept. I knelt down, took off my size 9.5 shoes and put them on Robin’s little size 5 feet. They flopped around like clown shoes.

Together we walked side by side to the parking lot. We made an unlikely pair. She, 5′ 3″ in a pair oversized floppy gray Nikes and an ugly gray rescue blanket, and I, a full 5′10″ in my black stocking feet. A waiting ambulance took her sister to the hospital as she cried for her son miles away in a helicopter fighting for his life. Robin insisted that she was fine and refused transport to the hospital. Peter and I took her keys and after promising the policewoman that we would not let her drive herself anywhere, we drove her to her mother’s house.

I spent the rest of the afternoon digging through a strangers home, going places strangers are never supposed to see, searching for anti-biotic ointment, a dry set of clothes and a bowl of warm soup for Robin. I cleaned sand from her deep abrasions and held her hand while she warmed up and told me about her Roy. He was handsome, thoughtful and they shared a love a person only finds once in a lifetime. The kind of love symbolized by the gold claddagh earrings dangling from her ears. Love, loyalty and friendship. Her mother-in-law had given them to her to wear for a month after her wedding. Now they hung as painful reminders of what was gone.

“Go be with your husband,” Robin repeated over and over. I couldn’t leave her. Not now.
I spent most of the afternoon and much of the evening holding her and listening. We may have been perfect strangers not 5 hours before, but when we parted I felt like my soul would rip in two. I promised to visit the next day and gave her my phone number.

Night came, but sleep wouldn’t. I lay awake listening to the sounds of sonar boats making a “bleep…bleep… bleep…” as they patrolled the coast. The thundering of helicopters scanning the coastline made me leap from bed and run to the window of the seaside rental cottage. I never saw the boats or the choppers, but I knew what they were looking for.

At 5:30 am the phone rang. I ran to the phone and answered quickly. It was Robin’s mother. Little Craigey didn’t make it and the Coast Guard had officially called off the search for Roy.

The news broke my heart. I just wanted everything to be better, for Robin, for her sister, for Roy and little Craigey. I felt so small, so incapable. I wanted to heal their hearts, heal their wounds and bring back their son and husband from the cold, cruel fingers of the waves. Not 24 hours before I didn’t know there was a Robin, but in just a few hours time her story became my story. When she hurt, I hurt. When she cried, I cried. It reminded me that we need each other. We cannot turn our backs on those who are hurting in the world. They need us, and we need them.

Find the ones you care about. Love them a little deeper, tell them you care. You may never have another chance.

The news links:

A personal news story about Roy done by The World Link
A personal news story about Craigy done by The World Link
The Coast Guard News
The World Link
The Register Guard
ABC News

a blog site about the incident:
C-Myste: Tragedy at Shore Acres

Pictures of the cove below shore acres. Taken just about 2 hours before tragedy struck by Carolyn and Tom Cannon. Thank you Tom and Carolyn for your permission to use these photographs.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="320" caption="Majestic waves turned murderous in an instant"][/caption]