“Write about the time you came closest to death.”
I was born and raised in southern Maine, in a little city named Biddeford. I lived there until I was 18, when I moved to Newfoundland, Canada for college, then to Illinois for… well, other reasons that aren’t relevant to this post.
Growing up in Maine was great. There is a reason it is known as The Vacation State. It is beautiful, and if you like being outdoors, then Maine is a great getaway location. Anywhere in Maine, really… just, maybe not too far up north.
In the warmer months, as far back as I can remember, my mom, step-father, step-brother, and myself would drive to Alfred, Maine, where we would spend the day at Bunganut Lake. I have so many fond memories from the lake, including camping with my friend Emily and her family, and my friend Patience’s birthday party, where I threw mud on a girl named Amber who used to pick on me and once tried to steal my boyfriend. Yup… a lot of good memories.
And some not-so-good memories.
When I was 7 or 8, we decided to go to a different part of the beach than usual. I was there with my mom, my step-brother, my mom’s friend, and her kids. We went to an area that I vaguely remember as have large stone steps that went down into the water, which I wasn’t used to. We had always gone to the woodsy side of the beach, where there was sand and roots leading into the water. I was chasing my mom’s friend’s son, when I slipped on the rock, and fell into the water. Despite the water being shallow, the shock from the fall caused me to open my mouth under water, and breathe in liquid. A lot of liquid. I don’t remember if I blacked out, but the next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground on my back, with everyone circled around me, including several strangers.
My mom was angry at me for not being careful, and I got angry at her in return for being upset. Of course, I now realize that she was just scared. I ended up being fine, and we kept going back to the lake several times a year until my mid-teen years.
I have also been told stories about a time when I was a baby, when my mom, or her boyfriend, or someone else, had me sitting on a floatie in the shallow end of the lake (yes, we’ve actually been going there my entire life, I suppose). They looked away for a moment, and when he turned around, I was gone. Luckily, they pulled me out of the water before any damage could be done, and I have no memory of the incident.
These two stories stand out to me the most, because I feel like drowning would be one of the worst ways to die, aside from, maybe… burning alive? I’ve also been in several bad car accidents, a few other drowning incidents, and just a few years ago was almost kicked in the head by a horse, but I usually come out unharmed.
And can you believe I’ve never even broken a bone? Lucky me!
Thanks for reading, friends.