Too Close for Comfort

Besides my Christmas visit to Bethlehem, the other story my mother often told about me was recounting a mishap I had on the day of Martie’s wedding. It was truly a memorable day. But it wasn’t until I was quite a bit older that she told me two other “immersion” stories: about the day I nearly drowned, and about Chinese New Year.

In my mid-teens, I began to experience occasional claustrophobia. When the choir teacher placed me in the middle of the group on the risers during rehearsal one steamy spring day, I remember wanting to scream. It was all I could do not to run out of the gym. And I had a similar feeling on crowded elevators – like I couldn’t catch my breath. I mentioned this to my mom and asked her why I was having these experiences of panic.

Always one to look for a psychological explanation, Mom said, “Well, it could have been the time you nearly drowned as a toddler….” She paused thoughtfully, “or maybe it was Chinese New Year.”

I had no idea what she meant.
“I nearly drowned?”
“Yes. Don’t you remember? We were at Auntie Shirl’s apartment.”
I shook my head. I didn’t remember Shirley ever living in an apartment.

“Well, we were there one afternoon and were relaxing by the pool. Shirl and I were absorbed in talking, and you were toddling about. I heard the softest little ‘plunk’ sound. No splash, no crying, just a ‘plunk.’ We turned around and you were floating to the bottom of the pool. It was the strangest sight – you didn’t move a muscle. Well, we both jumped up and I reached way down in the water and just got you by the ankle. We pulled you out and then you started to cry – probably because of the looks on our faces. But you calmed right down and went back to playing. I resolved then and there that you would learn to swim that week. That’s why we were so relentless about teaching you to dog paddle when you were only three”.

I was bewildered by this strange and significant story. Then my mother added, “Since you were so little – just two-and-a-half – I didn’t think you had really registered what had happened, but on the way home, you turned to me with the most serious expression and said, ‘But Mother, I might have died.’ You knew what had happened all right.”

Later on that day, I asked what had happened on Chinese New Year.

“Oh…that,” Mom sighed and sat down. “Well, I don’t know about you, but that was one of the worst days of my life. You were about five, and Dad and I thought it would be fun to drive into San Francisco for the Chinese New Year’s parade. Well, we took you and drove up there. People were already starting to gather. We found a nice spot on a hill – a sidewalk - to watch from. But then the people kept coming – it got more and more crowded. We could hear the firecrackers and the sound of the parade getting nearer. People kept pouring in until we were packed like sardines and couldn’t move. Soon, I realized we were separated from Dad. I couldn’t even see him. You were standing by my feet.”

My mother was a very petite woman - only five feet tall. I tried to picture her there. As she told the story and even now as I write the words, I have a short-of-breath feeling.

“Then the dragon started coming down the street, dancing from side to side,” she continued, while a picture – a memory – formed in my mind. “It must have been the year of the Dragon. The whole crowd on the hill began to move with the parade, down the street. And then, I realized that I couldn’t even bend down to pick you up, we were wedged too tightly and the force of the moving crowd was too great.”

She looked at me with tear-filled eyes, “Right then, I was sure you were going to be trampled." She sniffed, "But just then I looked up. A huge man was right in front of me - well over 300 pounds - he was inches away, with you in between us. He took one look at the terror on my face and he must have seen what was happening. Without saying a word, he planted himself – like an oak tree – with his legs apart and his elbows out. He was not going anywhere. And just when the force of the river of people was about to sweep us under, and trample us with out even knowing it – all of a sudden it was like we were on our own little island in the river. The people swept around us and in a few minutes, they were gone – and he was too.”

As I listened, my sense of suffocation lessened and was replaced by a sense of calm. As she told about the man who came from nowhere and then disappeared, a sense of peace washed over me. I wonder how many angels (like that man) it took to get me to adulthood?

“Yeah,” I said to my mom, “I think that could explain my claustrophobia. That would do it.” She nodded.

These are not stories one shares over dinner in casual conversation. It is no wonder I hadn’t heard them. These are the stories that a mother locks away somewhere and tries not to think about. Stories one rarely revisits because of what might have and nearly did happen.