On The River, A Mother's Memory

By Jeanne Miller

We stepped into the cold water, the temperature of melted snow. The promise of heat later in the day kept us there as we readied the rafts. I couldn't help but think back nine years to the last time I took my children white water rafting.

"You'll love it," I had told them, "It's exciting, challenging, and most of all, fun."

When we finally finished that adventure, my daughter, Chelsea, was in complete agreement. She high-fived everyone in the rafts, begged her Uncle Paul to plan another trip and hugged me just for being there with her.

My son, Jared, had a different opinion. There wasn't one part of the trip he enjoyed, with the exception of lunch, which we ate on the banks of the Trinity River. Jared was apprehensive from the beginning. He asked many questions in the days leading up to the trip. I should have seen this wasn't going to be a good experience for him, but I put my blinders on and told myself he would be fine once we got under way. "Who wouldn't love white-water rafting? It was in his genes," I told myself.

From the beginning, the rapids terrified him and the farther we went the worse it became. In his six-year-old mind we were all doomed to perish in the turbulent white- water and rushing current. Jared didn't hide his discomfort and fear. He kept asking, "Mom, why did you bring me? Why did you make me come along?"

These are not the words a mother longs to hear, but we were committed and there was nowhere to go but down that river. There was the notorious "widow maker" near the end of the run so for most of the trip he concerned himself with these rapids and the threat of death. "Was that it, was that the widow maker?" his sweet voice would plead after surviving another set of rapids. Each time the guilt and remorse added another layer to my already burdened heart.

"No, Jared. But, don't you worry we will all keep you safe and you'll probably enjoy it," we would all say. By this time every adult in the two rafts was doing everything they could think of to calm and quiet this traumatized boy.

In addition, I had the added anxiety of facing his father once we returned home. His father was not at home in water like I was. He questioned whether or not this was a good thing to do with our children as I loaded our camping equipment into the van.

I assured him our children would be safe from harm. "They will be creating wonderful lasting memories and will love white-water rafting as much as I do," I chirped enthusiastically. Well, I was fifty-percent correct, Chelsea did and Jared didn't.

Nine years after that fateful trip I asked if they would like to go again, this time on the American River. I had seen Jared climb trees beyond where he was visible from the ground, ride mountain bikes over rough terrain, and engage in numerous other adventurous activities. I was hoping to redeem myself for my past mistake in judgment. Chelsea was willing and Jared agreed, with just enough reluctance to create apprehension with my decision.

On this trip there were ten of us in two rafts. After slathering on sunscreen and snugging-up life jackets we were ready to go. I hesitated, waiting for Jared to settle into the larger (and safer) raft and then climbed into the smaller raft. He looked over at me puzzled. I made the choice to go in the second raft because I felt he would have the best chance for success without me right next to him.

Whether or not my lack of overt attention had anything to do with his attitude and reaction is insignificant. Jared had a great time. He rode up on the side of the raft, unlike his previous trip where he buried himself in the middle of the boat. Jared followed commands to paddle and helped pull his sister in when she went overboard. His delight was contagious as many of the rafters on this trip were on the ill-fated trip nine years ago. He was even able to take some ribbing about the change in his behavior.

I saw a great change in my son and was pleased he was willing to try once more to experience what I feel as we tumble through rough white-water, clinging, while trying to control the direction of the raft as the spray and force rush over you, leaving you exhilarated beyond words. I wasn't hoping for a brave young man that day?rather, I wanted him to share my sense of adventure and, most of all, ease the past regret I have carried with me.

Since then we have made several other river-runs. The young boy is a young man now. I hope all the challenges he faces will end with the success he felt that day on the river.