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  ​Life is a River
  
I’ve heard when faced with a traumatic experience, your life may flash before your eyes. Mine has. Twice. Though water is recognized for its life-saving ability, I know all too well the destructive unexpected nature of water.
Upon arriving in Costa Rica in the spring of 1994, my family was eager to experience the country’s adventures and thrills. On day three, I roused my daughters at five-thirty a.m., much earlier than we cared to be awakened. But the thrill of whitewater rafting helped us overcome our drowsiness. An hour later, a blue Jeep pulled up to the entrance of the JW Marriott Guanacaste. As we stepped from the lobby to the warm morning, a representative of Tenorio River Rafting, wearing a yellow rain slicker, introduced himself as Hector. We climbed into the 4x4 and headed for the launch point thirty minutes away.
       As the Jeep bounced along the road, Hector described what we could expect on the Tenorio River. I’d read the brochure thoroughly before booking and knew the pitch. Twenty-two rapids ranging from class III to class IV, on a scale of one to six. In other words, moderately difficult to difficult. The other passengers sat on the edge of their seats observing the jungle, ready for the four-hour scenic rafting trip. I smiled even though my stomach churned. I pushed aside the memories of nearly drowning over twenty years earlier. I reminded myself I had rafted before, on the Deschutes River in Oregon, the Wenatchee River in Eastern Washington, and floated down the Mendenhall River in Alaska.
       Hector announced our arrival as the Jeep slowed to a stop. After the safety presentation, we were equipped with the knowledge of what to do in case of an unexpected event and were handed yellow slickers, life jackets, and helmets. We were then introduced to our expert, Roberto, whom we were trusting with our lives.
Roberto handed us paddles “I’ll demonstrate the strokes and positions. First, the tripod position. Weight on your feet, lean forward, and paddle aggressively. This will give you better balance.”
I stepped closer, not wanting to miss a single bit of advice that would help keep our raft upright and us safe and dry while we traversed the fifteen-mile stretch of the river. I hadn’t liked hearing his warnings about taking on water or flipping the raft.
       “The front two paddlers are key. They need to paddle simultaneously and to the same depth.” Roberto pointed to my husband and older daughter. “You two will be in front.”
       I relaxed, relieved the safety of my family was not in my hands. I followed my family into the raft. Two other rafts with tourists floated ahead a short distance. For the first fifteen minutes, the water was mirror-like and calm. The silence of the lush jungle alive with vibrant toucans and parrots, was interrupted only by an occasional splash of a misplaced paddle or the screech of monkeys perched high in the trees. We listened for Roberto’s instructions as the raft dipped and bounced along. Just as I was accustomed to the serenity, Roberto’s tone ratcheted up to rise above the sound of the river that had shifted from flowing to gurgling. “Okay, here we go. We’re coming to the rapids. Stroke. Right side. Front paddle.”
       My breath caught. A rush of adrenaline gripped me. I expected to see a bit of fear in my youngest daughter’s eyes. Instead, her eyes sparkled. She laughed and whooped as the waves splashed over the side of the rubber boat. My decades-old fear of drowning sparked for a moment, but I focused on breathing.
       "Are you ready? We have a series of six more rapids.” Roberto’s eyes narrowed. He took a quick breath before he barked. “Left side. Forward. Keep going.” After ten long adrenaline-pumping minutes, Roberto lifted his paddle and grinned. “You’re doing great. Are you having fun?”
       I saw the wide eyes and broad smiles on my raft-mates and joined in with an affirmative, though not fully committed, thumbs up.
       After catching my breath for two brief minutes, the instructions came with authority. “Another seven rapids approaching.”
       I sucked in a big breath, planted my paddle in the water, and stroked as ordered. Now accustomed to the strokes, we pulled in unison, bumping and bobbing as the rapids lifted the boat and thumped us down. From the rafts ahead, I heard shouts of glee.
       Soon, Roberto pointed to large rocks looming before us. “If we’re going to flip, this is where it happens.”
       I let the words register as I watched the first raft navigate to the right of the rocks. Everyone aboard whooped and raised their paddles over their heads when they reached the other side of the outcropping. The second boat followed. My stomach knotted at the sight of the white water tossing the raft about like a whirlpool. Safely on the other side, they too yelped their success. All eyes from the first two rafts turned toward us.
“It’s our turn.” Roberto’s eyes danced with mischief. “Shall we go to the right or the left?”
       We looked at each other. Finally, my husband said. “You choose.”
       Roberto shrugged. “To the left it is.”
       I didn’t take time to think that the first two rafts that had traversed successfully around the rocks had gone to the right. Why weren’t we?
       Roberto barked loudly against the rushing waves as the water churned with a fierceness that gripped me like a vice. “Right side. Watch the rocks. Back paddle. Harder.”
       I imagined my husband and daughter’s faces strained with intense focus. I turned my attention to paddling. It happened so fast. Without warning I was in the water. My first thought was of my children. As waves rolled over me pushing me further underwater, fear engulfed me. I had to get to the surface.
       I hadn’t handled my situation well twenty years earlier while scuba diving when the tail of a fish unexpectedly whipped my mask loose, causing it to flood. All the training during my scuba class never had a chance to reach my brain. Instead of thinking, I panicked and passed out. If  I had not been diving with my brother, I would certainly have drowned.
       This time, I had time to think. But I couldn’t recall which way to face my head, upstream or downstream. Did I even know which was which? I did know if I didn’t get to the surface soon, it wouldn’t matter. I struggled to crest the surface, but the unexpected force of the rushing water fought back, holding me under. I couldn’t gulp in much-needed air. I kicked and stroked toward the surface, but the roiling waves battled against what little strength I had left. In those few moments, I recalled coming to as my brother and father pulled me ashore on Alki Beach with no sense of what had happened other than the vague awareness I had nearly drowned. Now, like a silent movie, snippets of my life flickered across my mind. I imagined the headline in the local paper announcing my death. “Local woman drowns on rafting trip in Costa Rica.” My heart pounded inside my tight chest. My mind raced with concerns about my husband and how my daughters would maneuver through their teenage years and face their futures without their mother. Somehow, I finally broke the surface. I gulped in air and heard shouts. I looked around. The guide on the rescue kayak called my name as he maneuvered his kayak next to me and extended a paddle.
       “My girls.” I looked around frantically as I grabbed the paddle.
The guide pulled me closer and aboard the kayak. “Your family is safe.” He motioned with his chin toward the now-upright raft, where I spotted four heads turned, watching me as we approached.
       Back inside the raft, I sat in a state of shock. Though the unexpected destructive nature of the water had shown itself again, I was alive.
       "Are you ready to continue?”
       My entire body trembled. My heart was still racing. There was no way I wished to tempt fate and take on the river again. I shook my head. “No. I want to go back.”
Roberto shrugged. “The river only runs in one direction.”
       Emotions swelled up inside me. I struggled to tamp down my fear. My life hadn’t ended underneath the tossing and churning waves. I was still here. I looked back at the rocks and the white churning water that began so tranquil. I thought about how life was like the river. Sometimes smooth and unruffled, and sometimes bumpy with unexpected obstacles. Roberto was right. A river, like life, runs in one direction. You can’t go backward. You can only move forward. I inhaled deeply and picked up my paddle. Roberto smiled and nodded at me. I planted my feet in the tripod position to steady myself, then plunged my paddle into the river and pulled.