Congratulations to Laura Brennan on her Third Place award in our CT Voices contest collaboration with WSHU Radio.
Inside My Head
By Laura Brennan
We know that life can change in an instant. Those instants are rare though, and they’re
surrounded by ordinary moments. They start in places we’ve been before like Kettletown Park, a
wooded park that opens to a lake beach with a roped-in swimming area perfect for little ones
because it’s only maybe four feet at its deepest point. The sun was shining and my husband Mike
was in Singapore for the week. Often we met friends there, but today it was just us.
I sat in the sand with my younger two digging, filling buckets, and playing defense as
one-year-old Justin’s sandy fingers headed for his mouth over and over. These two never went
near the water.
Justin didn’t walk and three-year-old Kelsey “no like the dirty water.”
There was a faint and irregular beeping in the distance. A man with a metal detector
searched for treasures while his daughter of maybe 11 played in the park. Five-year-old Kevin
swam, often disappearing under water rings and reappearing at their extending edges.
I walked to the beach bag. I checked the time; we still had an hour. I glanced back to see
two in the sand and one in the water. I checked the call log for the landowners; I was anxiously
awaiting news about the lot where we wanted to build a house. Nothing. Another glance, two in
the sand, one in the water, and an 11-year-old girl wading her way in. I rummaged for a towel
and some new beach toys. I looked up to see one in the sand, two swimming, and Kelsey’s head
bobbing up and down in the murky water.
In my head, I looked up in time to see Kelsey just knee-deep in the water.
In my head, Kevin and the 11-year-old girl noticed a drowning child just feet away.
In my head, Kelsey took two steps backwards so her little nose and mouth could easily
reach the air.
In my head, I heard splashing because in my head drowning isn’t silent.
In my head, I prayed for the protection of the Guardian Angels.
In my head, I looked up and saw only one in the sand and one swimming, so I scanned
the woods and ran towards the water screaming. I called 9-1-1, and they sent a rescue team.
In my head, I pulled a lifeless girl from the water, and the 9-1-1 dispatcher talked me
through CPR.
In my head, I dialed the 16 digits of the company-issued international cell phone from the
business card in my wallet. From two continents away, I told Mike that our girl had drowned.
Outside my head, I dropped everything and sprinted towards Kelsey, furious that the
resistance of the water slowed my pace.
I grabbed her and pulled her to my chest. Water fell from her mouth and she began to
cough with her entire little body. She reached her arms around my neck and squeezed, “Thank
you, Mama.” I stood thigh-deep in murky water hugging her back.
The beeping grew louder. I looked up to see two kids swimming and one boy playing
happily in the sand. A male voice said, “We had a rule, you can’t go in past your belly button.
You need a rule.”
“She’s never even gone into the water,” I replied.
“Never past their belly buttons,” he repeated.
I carried Kelsey out of the water, her arms still wrapped around my neck. I called to
Kevin, “Did you see your sister in the water?”
“No. Can I have a snack?” he replied.
“When we get home. It’s time to go,” I told him.
“We packed snacks, I’ll get them,” Kevin said.
“No bud, we’re going home.”
I haphazardly packed the beach toys, wet towels, and the sandy bag of wipes. I tucked the
memory away, never further than my pocket.
Purse across my body, beach bag on my shoulder, Justin on my hip, Kelsey’s hand in
mine, and Kevin a few steps ahead, we made our way to the car. I secured each child with a
five-point harness. My clothes still soaked, I sat on a towel and drove away from an instant when
life hadn’t changed at all.
About Laura Brennan: Laura is the wife of her high school sweetheart and mother of three from Newtown, Connecticut. For decades she wrote just for fun, and now she gets to write for The Healing Journey and Fairfield County Catholic.
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