What it Means to be Brave

“Why? Why is this the job I chose?” Eric thought to himself as he pulled on his wet suit. Dragged out of bed by a water rescue alarm at one o’clock in the morning. Someone’s fallen into the water from their pleasure yacht. A child. What was a child doing up at that hour? At least, he was told, the kid was required to keep his life vest on at all times, even, he’d been told, at night. Little Jimmy’s mother’s paranoia may have just been the thing that keeps him alive until Eric can get there. And Eric will be there soon.

He's gotten the wetsuit on, and is working on the oxygen tank and flippers. He needs to be prepared to resuscitate a kid. He needs to find a kid, in the dark, dangling from a rope from a helicopter. It was terrifying. Absolutely, vomit-inducing terrifying. So why was he doing it? How did he get here? That. That was a long story.

It started when Eric was in high school. His father insisted he pick a sport. Any sport. He just needed to do something to build stamina and muscle. He needed to not be a couch potato. He knew it was a good idea but that didn’t mean he wanted to do it. He was quiet and shy. Because of that, the idea of doing some sport that required communication or an audience of any sort was right out. He could choose between cross country or swim team. The swim team was year-round. So, swim team it was.

Eric hated it at first. He was slow, and the team met at 6 am Monday through Friday. Every other month or so there was a meet. But his dad insisted. So he swam. And after a month of regular practice, he started to see a difference. He got faster, leaner, and stronger. His teammates became his new friends, his crew. They would have spaghetti parties the night before a big meet. They went to each other’s birthdays, school dances, movies, everything. Not the whole team of course, but all of the guys in his grade. It turned out Eric wasn’t really antisocial like his father thought. It was just he needed relationships to mean something. And this group of young men meant something to him.

He swam all through high school. He was set to go to college on a sports scholarship when tragedy struck hard. His very best friend Matt went out with his family on a fishing boat, fell overboard, and irony of all ironies, drowned. Matt was the team captain for the swim team. If there was something he could do it was swim. But no. The water was too dark and choppy. The people on the boat couldn’t see him in the water. The family was never the same.

Eric’s life took an abrupt and sudden turn. He couldn’t focus. His anxiety got worse. He missed enough school that he almost didn’t graduate.  His dad was understanding but he wanted Eric to have a future. So after graduation, he sat Eric down and gave him a challenge.

“Son. You’re suffering a terrible loss. But I know Matt wouldn’t want you to waste your life grieving him. I know your grief is still fresh. I’ll give you some time. But I need you to decide what you want to do. I need you to find a goal to work towards. I won’t lie and tell you it will make everything better. But it should help. I think if you really want to honor Matt you should do something to honor his memory.” Eric had been unable to answer. He barely processed what his father had said.

A few weeks later, mostly to get his father off his back, he sorted through some of the mail that had come for him over the past few months. He wasn’t really planning on choosing something. He tried to not think about how he and Matt would have been going to school together in the fall. He didn’t want to feel the ache in his head or his heart when he looked at the things they had bought together for their dorm room. So he pressed it down and tried to think about the pamphlets, brochures, and acceptance letters from places that would allow for late admission.

Nothing looked even remotely interesting or worthwhile to him. It all looked useless. What was the point if he lost his most important person in the most stupid way? All the way at the bottom of the stack was a flier that did catch his eye. “Do you want to be a hero? Join the US Coast Guard” inside was listed the types of jobs the Coast Guard did and the benefits. And all of a sudden Eric knew what he was going to do with his life. To honor Matt.

When he told his dad, his dad cried. His Dad hardly ever cried. The last time he had seen him cry was at Matt’s funeral. Before that was when he was 5 and his Mom had died. That was it. To say his dad wasn’t a particularly emotional man would probably be underselling it. Eric couldn’t breathe for a second. “Dad? Are you disappointed? Angry?” 

The older man took a shuddering breath pulled his son into an embrace. “No, son. You’re going to be amazing. You are amazing. I think Matt would be proud.  I know I am.”

And that was that.

His excitement carried him through basic training. His desire to make his dad and Matt proud made the rest of the brutal but necessary training mean something. It wasn’t until he went on his first actual life or death stakes mission that Eric discovered that he was absolutely terrified of his job. It wasn’t the swimming component. Diving didn't bother him. Neither did the cold in the winter months. Even in rough, choppy, dark water, he had confidence in his skill. It was how much it mattered. Every time he leaped off the ladder and into the water to rescue someone who needed him he was reminded it could be another Matt. His failure would result in another family losing their child. His failure would end with some child missing their best friend. His failure would be the end of a life. Suddenly his exciting job turned into a nightmare of anxiety. But he still did it. Because it mattered. It mattered and he was needed. So he forced down nausea, focused his thoughts, said a prayer, and jumped.

When he retired many years later he had personally saved the lives of over a hundred people. He had directed rescues and assisted in the rescue of hundreds more. He was awarded a medal from a local organization. Every year they chose someone that they felt met the definition of bravery. He wanted to laugh. When he was interviewed for a story in the newspaper he was asked what he did to make himself not afraid on all of the dangerous missions. He did laugh then. “I need to clear up a misconception right there young man. I was absolutely terrified every single time I dangled in the air about to jump into icy water. I was always hopeful I would be able to save someone’s life. The thought that someone could die because I failed my mission made me physically sick after every. Single. Mission. I was afraid the whole time. But I pushed through anyway. That’s what bravery is. So I’m thankful for this award. It’s nice to get a thank you here and again. But if you think I got it because I somehow managed to never be afraid, I hate to break it to you but that just isn’t the case.”