Drifting

I can’t believe it’s been a year since Jen and I escaped to a resort in Mission Bay. We had no business going, financially speaking, anyway. Emotionally, we both needed to be there. I had finally walked away from years of dysfunction and needed to grieve what had died, and Jen was facing some medical issues, beginning with an eye biopsy the day after we were due to check out. 

On that first afternoon at the resort, we entered the pool and instantly knew something was different. The water felt soft and silky … healing. We later learned it was a saltwater pool, but in the moment, it just felt holy. We leaned back and floated, two friends drifting, side by side, held by the healing water.

Silence covered us. Worry melted away. When we were done floating, Jen said, “C’mon, let’s play pat-a-cake” under the water. Not my thing, but I saw no reason not to.  Then she wanted to have a tea party, again, underwater. And we did. In those moments, we weren’t sick or stressed … we were free. By the end of the trip, I told Jen something inside me had shifted. She agreed. We called it Acceptance.

A few days later, going up the steps and exiting the pool for the last time, I turned to her and said, “I hope the water stays on us”. She agreed. Neither of us knew in that moment that the healing would carry us through her cancer journey and the last months of her life.

The final morning of our stay, we sat on the balcony wearing our robes and watching the sunrise. Below, a homeless man wandered the park, talking to himself, clearly not in his right mind. He was yelling and swearing at God, disrupting my peace. I was annoyed, and when I turned to complain to her, Jen was lost in prayer, crying, interceding for this man. I was humbled. I was always humbled by her heart for others, especially those suffering from homelessness. She knew the pain of their struggle, but she also knew the solution. 

Later, when we were packing up to leave, one of us commented on how much we’d miss the comfy resort robes we had practically lived in, wearing them back and forth from the healing waters. I remember saying, “Every time I’ve stayed at a resort, I’ve wanted to take the robe, but I never did.” She said, “I’ve always wanted to stay at a resort … and never did.” So, I bought the robes and said, “We can’t bring the water with us, but we can  envision Jesus hugging us when we wear them.” 

Looking back, I know that pool wasn’t just water. It was a sanctuary. A place where friendship, faith, and childlike joy met us and wrapped us in something bigger than ourselves. We didn’t just float, we allowed ourselves to be held.

Tonight, a little over a year later, I unexpectedly slipped into another saltwater pool. As I leaned back into the silky water, the quiet hum surrounded me, and I could hear her laugh. I could feel her near. Though unseen, she was beside me still … two friends drifting, side by side.

The healing water stayed.