drowning vs. living

When I was not quite 4 years old I almost drowned. I was wading in a Bar Pit on a very hot summer day. The water was cool on my ankles and feet, and I was envious of my older brothers swimming and horseplaying out in the deep. If you are not familiar with a Bar Pit (yes, I know that is not the correct spelling) it is a man-made hole, the sand on the bottom gets gradually deeper, like a beach.
I ventured farther and farther out, all the while checking over my shoulder to see if Dad objected. He was near the truck with his buddies, leaning and talking. I took a step too far and my face went under water. I was shocked and tried to pull back, which somehow propelled me a little deeper. Now the water was deeper than I was tall. I pushed myself up with a lunge and gulped for air and tried to yell at the same time, my brothers were just over there! My mouth filled partially with water and I choked on the way back down. As soon as my feet felt the sand, I lunged again, determined to get air and yell loud enough to be heard.
I don't know how many times I lunged and gulped and yelled, which was more like a gurgle in reality, but I do remember the feelings and thoughts I had during those few short minutes.
At first the shock, the water closing in around my face, I don't even know enough to close my eyes. I have to push! I remember thinking that if I lunged hard enough I would go high enough to accomplish my goal to get help. Over and over I lunged, over and over I sank back down with my head turned upward toward the surface. I remember seeing the watery sun, looking straight up as I sank down for what seemed the millionth time. PANIC. PUSH. BREATHE. YELL. SWALLOW. SINK. PANIC. It never seemed to end, rather the panic grew every time I sank.
I was getting tired. Now, in addition to the previous order of things, something else was pushing it's way into the mix. Resignation. I realized that I could not keeping jumping in the water forever. My legs were tired, the panic had worn me out and the adreneline rush was over. The time with my face above water was getting shorter with each jump. Resignation.
I remember the last plunge to the surface. No yelling, just air. How long would it last me? I did not jump again. I needed to rest my little legs. I was very tired and resigned. I knew in my young mind that I was in big trouble, the panic had run it's course, I was too tired for that now. In between each push, at first, when my feet touched the sand to push again, I had felt hope. Now the hope was gone. As my lungs started to burn with my last breath, I knew I would have to release it.
As the huge bubbles started to burst from my mouth, I felt a steel band around my arm and I was jerked to the surface. AIR. My brother Hal had come to my rescue. He drug me to the shore and of course I cried. I was wrapped in a towel and fell asleep on the bench seat in Daddy's truck.
I learned to swim the next year, and I loved the water more than the average kid. I can't answer why I didn't fear the water after that, but I didn't. As I grew, we did daring, wonderful things in and on the water, and I love it as much today as I did then. I am still like a little kid when someone says, "Let's go swimmin'!".
Today, in real life, I feel like I have been drowning for a long time, and somehow have been jerked up to the surface for that first, precious, huge gulp of AIR. I have been sinking, and pushing, and gulping and hoping and fighting for a long time. But today, today is different. I will not sink again. I may go back into the water, but it will be with caution and the knowledge that the bottom is sometimes too deep and I need to tread lightly.