I sit here at work waiting for the techs to finish installing wheels on our Thermal Enclosure Door, and Software to start testing the hexapod move program, so I can watch cables on the Test Stand and make sure nothing get’s snagged.  wait… wait… wait…

The duality of my task here and my adrenaline filled body is slightly maddening.  I feel like running up a mountain or jumping out of a plane, and yet here I sit and wait, and write…

Yesterday evening about 5pm my pager went off.  “There goes your evening.” a coworker says as I run for my car.  I knew it was something big, they way you look at a sunny day in the winter and know it will be snowing in the afternoon .  Then I hear the dispatcher “possible drowning… two kids in the water… there were three… one went down… screaming for help.”

By this point I’m halfway to the station trying to stay under the speed limit.  Minutes later I’m copying down directions… dive van already gone… hooking up the boat… And off again, roll status 4… lights, sirens, air horn, heavy traffic, green lights all the way, breaks!  air horn again!  Arrival… pause… deep breath.  Firefighters everywhere, divers in the water, boats in the water, search, weeds, helecopter circling, search dog arrival, helping direct divers, talking to the sheriff, reporters, suiting up, drysuit on, in the water.  And slow…

A find… someone’s starting CPR… too late… the water is too warm… he was down too long… didn’t have a good last seen point… weeds made it hard…

…and somehow the last week of time jams itself into the last hour and a half.  My body can’t figure out how to be sad and full of adrenaline at the same time.  I go to work cleaning, putting away gear, and avoid anyone who wouldn’t understand.

Again, life speaks to me, calmly explaining how precious it is, and that it must be cherished, appriciated, loved, because one moment it will be gone, no warning, no second chance.