After pulling on my fins and adjusting my mask and snorkel, I eased off the flat rock into the Delaware River about a mile upstream from the Gap. The current was strong and swift and carried me along like flying, gliding over and around submerged boulders, surprising large fish lurking in the shadows. Visibility was remarkably clear as the maximum depth was five feet. 

Then there was the time Sharon and I boogie boarded a rather large distance into the Atlantic somewhere on the Outer Banks of NC. Our goal was to intercept a group of dolphins as they cruised south. The plan didn’t work out but I was impressed with how peaceful and calm the ocean was that day. And quiet, the water lapping against our boards was the only sound. And then, as if to say hello, a lone dolphin surfaced no more than 5 yards from us – there was no reason to speak. 

These experiences and a lifetime of others, are so natural – I’m at home In the water – it seemed where I belong. Indeed, at two years old I was submerging my head in the enameled tub set in the back yard.  My reoccurring dream is seeking The Water. 

Several abdominal surgeries and over 25 years of degenerative disk disease has rendered my body unnaturally stiff. I slowly realized how my limited mobility affected my lifestyle, demonstrated in a reluctance to visit my list of places and scenes I want to photograph as well as backing off exploring the many parks and sanctuaries we are blessed to have here in the Lowcountry. These excursions are far less frequent now, proceeded with substantial planning and accompanied by my loving wife. So I have come to terms and accepted these forced limitations. 

But not being able to enjoy the water, coupled with a new and foreign uneasiness, bordering on fear, is a bitter pill to swallow….

It’s true, I do have my faith, which encourages me to surrender when there’s a nasty pill waiting on the table. A faith that has been tested by many bitter pills before this one. 

And even though this time is painfully different: this loss cuts deep and wide, leaving behind something unrecognizable, I know my faith will carry me. I feel it welling up, warming from the inside while whispering “It’s ok to leave your rock. Trust Me”.