My daughter almost drowned today.

She’s a strong swimmer and had spent the past 7.5 hours in and out of the ocean.

It was the last ten minutes of our day on the beach, when she swam out to retrieve her sister. 

Her daddy was walking towards the trash cans.

I was 100 yards away, in my chair, recognizing that she was no longer on the sand bar but being pulled by the current. 

Only her head was visible when I started to run.  

She climbed onto me as I swam parallel to the shore, out of the current and into safety. 

Adrenaline coursed through my body as a lifeguard pulled up on his four wheeler.

“Nice rescue.” He offered. 

Apparently, as he tossed our trash into the can, my husband heard the guards talking on the stand about a mom running to her child

He turned and saw Emma in my arms.

“My God.”  He shook his head in disbelief. 

“Thank God you were watching.  I turned my back for just a second.”

And that’s how long it takes for someone to drown.  

It’s only been a few hours, but I can tell my relationship with my third-born has changed. 

She looks at me differently.

She has struggled with feeling overshadowed by her big sisters and replaced by her health-demanding youngest. 

Today, she felt seen. 

She’d been rescued.  

And it was by me.