It started out as a regular beach vacation day. Plans were for all of us to spend the day at the shore, pretty much doing what every family does at a beach – sitting, talking, swimming, laughing, playing games, and anything else that can be done while watching and listening to the beauty of the waves. Just about mid-morning, we trudged over to the beach with a canopy, chairs, coolers, towels, rafts, and more. We popped up our tent and claimed our space for the day.
Matt was along for this journey, so there was a bit more to the set up. Earlier, we had put him into the beach wheelchair (which we rented the previous evening), pushed him not only down the lane to the nearest handicap accessible beach access point, but also through the fluffy sand until he had reached the family site. It took a bit of effort, so it was nice to have his sister and a group of his cousins to help. When Matt and those assisting him reached the tent, they made sure he was in the shade and was pointed towards the water. All was good, as he would say.
It was not unusual for Matt to be at the beach. That was something he had done many times throughout his life. He had not, however, been in the gulf water for a very, very long time. Without the ability to use his legs and with little ability to move his arms, swimming or just being in the water was quite challenging and a bit scary for him. Anything could happen. Especially when the waves moved the water in all directions. He preferred to sit in the shade and spend time with all from a stationary and dry location.
As time passed that afternoon, most of the relatives were out in the ocean swimming, with only Matt, myself, and my nephew, Will, in the shade of the tent. Watching the others, I asked a question I had asked my son numerous times and assumed the answer would be the same.
“Matt, would you like to swim in the ocean?”
I expected him to say no. As he always did. That he would be fine on shore if I’d like to go swimming. That leaving him in his shaded seat was perfectly A-Okay. That he could be on the shore by himself without problem.
But that’s not what he said.
“Mom,” he said, “I think I’d like to get in the water.”
I was a bit stunned. Matt wanted to swim. He gave the signal. And in that moment, I could feel that an adventure was about to begin.
My response to his request was ever-so-quick and as I soon found out ever-so-funny.
“Matt, wait here . . . don’t move . . . I gotta go get more help . . . just stay here,” I mumbled.
And in a calm and cool voice with a sense of wit only Matt sitting in a wheelchair could have, and in a most humorous tone, before I could dash off he said, “Mom, if by some miracle I jump up and stand and move, please don’t stop me.”
His classic sense of humor about himself and his situation gave us a moment to chuckle. I smiled. He smiled. And he then pointed me onward.
Within seconds, I had rounded up all the help he needed to get into the water. (Side note – it is much more difficult than it sounds for a near quadriplegic individual to get into the ocean. Lots of logistics come along with making it happen.)
The first step was to get him and his wheelchair to the shore line which required some heavy duty pushing through fluffy sand. Once we got him to the shoreline and after some conversation, we decided to keep him in the beach wheelchair and push all into the water.
By that time, looking around at the rest of beach, it was clear that families in the nearby vicinity were watching . . .and waiting. Pushing a guy in a beach wheelchair into the water draws attention. Clearly, our happy adventure was also turning into their happy adventure.
Though we should have known it, we seemed to forget that the big bulky wheelchair tires, which were perfect for navigating sand and trenches, were also filled with air. Which meant once the tires hit the water, they floated. So as Matt entered the water, he was weaving up and down like a red and white fishing pole bobber. The event looked like the funniest roller coaster ride ever in salt water. Eventually using the collective weight of all of his family, he was pushed out into the water until he and everyone else was soaking wet and howling with laughter.
Though the entire activity probably took less than ten minutes, it was as if time stood still. There we were as a family group, doing something together. Something easy for the rest of us, but something that required Matt to throw caution to the wind. He had to overcome a fear. He had to have a level of trust that the rest of us did not have to have. And once again, Matt prevailed and figured out how to participate in a fun summer moment with us. He smiled and we smiled. He laughed and we laughed.
Many times I think back to that moment. I learned a lot about a lot that day. I learned about bravery. I learned about trust. I learned about family. I learned more about what is important. And I learned that I must always be ready for adventures. Because they are worth the effort.
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Deborah Hutti 