son of the wave

Two years ago one of my closest friends was vacationing on the coast of Sri Lanka with her husband and 20 month old son. She was pregnant at the time.

Her husband had just come back to their bungalow after some morning surfing. She was just finishing changing her son's diaper when the water started coming in the door.

At first they didn't know what was going on. But as the moments passed the water still kept coming. Her husband unplugged the TV as they headed towards the back of the bungalow into the attached bathroom.

The water kept filling up, to their knees, their waists, their shoulders. In those moments they stood transfixed, their son above their heads, not sure what was happening. By the grace of god the weight of the water caused the bungalow to creak and shift and finally break apart. The last thing my friend remembers saying is You hang onto me, and I'll hang onto him. Don't let go.

And they were swept under water. She doesn't know how long they were under, but she does know that as the water receded she had no idea if her son was alive. Her husband had managed to grab the end of a clothesline, and that tiny cord held tight and kept them from being pulled into the sea.

When they all came up for air, my friend didn't think her son was breathing. Immediately afterwards he coughed up ocean and started crying. Save for some bumps and bruises, he was fine. In his tiny hand was his security blanket. He held onto it the whole time - something that brings tears to my eyes even now. Everyone had a job to do, to hold on, and he did his part. Her husband was miraculously fine as well. She didn't fare as well - part of her foot was missing, and her leg had a gash running from thigh to shin.

There was little time to waste. Everyone who was still on land was running, running, running into the jungle, onto rooftops, into trees. Some local villagers were assisting my friend - she couldn't run and her husband had the baby, but somehow they managed to scramble to higher ground before the next wave hit.

They stayed up on the hill for a long time. There were many gathered there and it sounded like everyone was in a state of disbelief. My friend needed medical attention, so after the second wave receded and they made their way to the nearest hospital. She was loaded onto a stretcher with three other women. She was given injections with unknown medicines and was taken for emergency surgery. This was a horrible place - dirty, chaotic, and filled with wounded and those who had died.

My friend's husband realized staying there was a very bad idea so he got on the phone and called the US embassy. Tranport to the main hospital in Colombo was arranged. This is all a blur to them so they don't completely recall exactly how it all worked out, instead grateful that it did.
When I first heard the news about the tsunami, I broke down crying. I knew where my friend was, and her deep love of the water, so I knew she could only have been in the thick of it. We waited for hours until her parents got a call from the embassy. They are alive was all they were told.

While I was watching the news and biting my nails my friends were busy surviving. They were evacuated with other Americans to the capital and to the main hospital. My friend had two more surgeries. They determined the baby was still alive. They had no money, no I.D, no diapers or clothes. My friend's husband had to beg for change to call home. They had no place to sleep, and nothing to eat.

Embassy workers took my friend's son into their home for a couple of nights. They had no choice but to hand over their son to strangers because they had no way to care for him in those two days - my friend was in and out of surgery and her husband needed to be with her. They were given diapers and clothing. People offered food. Those small graces helped a lot but it was not lost on them that they were the lucky ones - first for surviving, and second for being Americans. Things were getting done. Hundreds of thousands of others were not as lucky, some because of their citizenship, others because of their economic status. Others never even had a chance.

It took another week to get emergency passports and the money they needed to get out of the country. I was able to reach her in her hospital room during this time. I could tell she was in shock, her voice detached and small when it is usually strong and engaged. We cried together. I offered to come and she said no, that she just wanted to get out and go home. It took several more surgeries and the better part of a year for my friend to heal.

She gave birth 5 months later to a healthy baby boy. His middle name is Dylan, which in a translation I forget means son of the wave.

This didn't happen to me. And I am doing my best not to get into the gruesome details of what my friend saw and heard and endured. Because this is a post about survival, and about love, and about facing what life hands you and doing everything you can to stay afloat.

My friend's physical scars are mostly healed now. She still can't go to the beach, and can't celebrate her son's birthday without being gripped by panic and grief. She wonders why it is taking so long for the emotional trauma to heal, but is coming to terms with the notion that some things might never go away, and that she can live with that too. She calls me in those moments; she lives on the other side of the world so her night is my day, and I am here if she needs someone to listen. Someone who can never understand but who can hold the other end of the phone while she cries and then berates herself for not being stronger and will tell her to knock it off. Nicer words, maybe, but I can't bear her not tolerating her own grief. She has a right to it, god knows she's earned it. These things take time.

I am not sure I've ever known anyone braver. I always knew she was a warrior, but I didn't know she was a hero. If I am only ever half the woman she is, it's more than enough.

She doesn't read my blog, but I will share this post with her. I want her to know I remember two years ago when the world gasped for air. I honor her for her survival and grace and as she likes to call it, her bit of good luck.