It’s hard for me to imagine a day that’s better than one spent by or on the water. I love it. I always have.
As a child, we didn’t have a cottage, but many of my friends did, and I said yes to every opportunity I had to spend a day at the lake. I enjoyed every minute : jumping off the dock, swimming, boating, tubing. It was freedom.
It brings me incredible joy to spend time now on a lake with my own kids, who are equally water babies. They would happily spend every waking hour in the water (and have). I love sitting dockside watching them jump, swim and play. Last year, with the kids getting older, we found an old boat to buy to ramp up the summer fun with days of tubing and water skiing.
But I’m less carefree now as we pull them across the wake on the tube, knowing how quickly things can change.
When I was 17, I was invited to go to a cottage with a friend and his parents for the weekend. I obviously said yes. The family we were visiting had two Sea-Doos. I’d never ridden one before and couldn’t wait to try it.
My friend and I hopped on the older model. We both put on life jackets – probably because an adult made it mandatory. Even if there was an eye roll or a sigh, the excitement of getting on the water outweighed any annoyance we felt.
My friend drove and I held on behind him. We weren’t speeding or showing off. We were just riding along the lake. At one point we were travelling through a narrower stretch of water that opened into a wider section ahead. There was a boat in front of us and slightly to our left. It was a calm afternoon.
Then, in an instant, another Sea-Doo cut across our path.
A teenager was trying to cross behind the boat to catch its wake. He either didn’t see us or hadn’t looked. We had no chance to stop.
We hit him broadside.
I remember being thrown into the air. Then nothing.
I don’t remember hitting the water. I don’t remember what happened beneath the surface.
The next thing I remember is voices.
I surfaced into chaos. Boats surrounded us. The boat that had been ahead of us had turned around. Cottagers who had seen the collision from shore had jumped in their boats and were there to help us. My friend’s parents were there.
My first thought was, Where did everyone come from so fast?
I was confused. I was in shock.
My friend had badly injured his knee. The other teenager was unharmed.
We went to the hospital, where doctors believed I had a concussion. My friend’s parents woke me every few hours that night. By morning, I was in excruciating pain. Whiplash, they said, but I’d also badly injured the muscles all the way down my back.
For months, I couldn’t lift my arms above about a 45-degree angle. I needed regular physiotherapy and accommodations at school well into the following semester. That December, I took a job as a greeter at the mall. I remember hooking my arm over the lattice beside the store directory because simply letting it hang at my side for too long was still painful.
My injuries were serious.
But I recovered.
My friend later told me he thought I’d drowned. He said I was underwater for what felt like a very long time.
I have no memory of those moments.
What I do know is that I wasn’t conscious, and I was wearing a life jacket when I came back to the surface.
Every time I zip up a life jacket now, I think about that day. I don’t think about regulations or statistics. I think about voices. I think about opening my eyes to boats all around me and wondering where everyone had come from.
My kids are nearing high school now. Like most kids, they don’t always love wearing life jackets. When we bought our boat last year, there was plenty of complaining when I made it a rule: if you’re on the boat, you’re wearing a life jacket. If we stop in the middle of the lake for a swim, you’re still wearing a life jacket.
They also see me wearing mine every single time. Partly because I want to set the example. Partly because, if I’m honest, that day is never very far from my mind on the water.
Ontario’s most recent drowning data show that nearly all boating-related drowning victims were not wearing a life jacket. That’s one statistic I can’t read without wondering how many of those never had the chance to reach for one.
Life jackets only save lives when they’re being worn. Mine saved mine.
