All I could think of was air. It became my first and last thought.
It was December 2001. My parents had spent the past two months working extra shifts to ensure my brother Alex and I had the best Christmas, as for the past three years one or both of our parents had to work. I guess that is what happens when your parents are nurses. People don’t stop getting sick just because it’s a holiday.
For the first time in four years we were able to take a holiday. A real family holiday, to the Gold Coast. On the 19th of December, three days before my fifteenth birthday, we packed the car and took the two hour car trip to Burleigh Heads, which consisted of multiple games of eye spy and singing along to every song that came on the radio. As we got closer, we had a competition to see who could see the ocean first, and of course, Alex won. When we arrived, I bounced out of the car. I attempted to unpack quickly to get to the beach before going to the surf club for dinner. It took me 15 minutes to get everything into our unit and unpacked. Unfortunately we had arrived later than expected and had to wait until the next day to go to the beach.
Over dinner we discussed our plans for the next day. Dad had a golfing thing on with a mate from work, Mum wanted to stay at the unit and read her new book, and Alex was going to the skate park with one of his friends he hadn’t seen since moving to the coast. All I wanted to do was go to the beach, go for a surf, get a tan and enjoy the warmth. At first mum and dad were reluctant to let me go by myself, but they later agreed as I had been swimming since I was eighteen months old and had gone to nationals for open water swimming, I knew the dangers of the ocean and how to get myself out of trouble. Or so I thought.
The next morning, at exactly 8am, I was on the beach, in my wetsuit, with my board, ready to go out. Mum and I had just had an argument, some horrible things were said and I needed to get out. I had gone just south of where we were staying. My friends told me it was the best place on Burleigh to surf. I was a bit apprehensive at first, as I was surfing just off the rocks and the rip was pulling towards them. Mum had recommended not going anywhere near the rocks, but I went out anyway. I was out for about an hour when I got wiped out by a dumping wave. I was washed around like a washing machine, not sure which way was up and which way was down. My strap snapped sending my board crashing back to shore. I was pushed by the rip and my strap got wedged between two rocks. I was just able to get my face out of the water between waves though my wet suit was too big for me. It filled up with water making it feel as though I was 20 kilos heavier. There was no point trying to swim to shore, I was stuck. Every attempted gulp of air resulted in a gulp of salty sea water, destined for my lungs. My whole life I was lead to believe that air was a necessity, but in that moment, suddenly it became a luxury. With another fateful wave, I was pulled completely underwater. I thrashed around trying to resurface but it was no use, my strap wasn’t moving. I had no strength left and I was starting to lose consciousness. I realised I was going to die. The water suddenly became very warm and I could see a bright light. My life didn’t exactly ‘flash past my eyes’, I just thought of all the people I would be leaving and the experiences I would miss out on. Then all I could think of was air. It became my first and my last thought.
That was the last family holiday I ever went on. My life was taken in two minutes. If I hadn’t have gone out near the rocks I would still be on earth with my family. I would have been able to attend my brother’s wedding. I would have been able to get married myself, and have children. But in two short minutes my life had been snatched away from me. Now I’m in heaven. It was an odd feeling to watch my own funeral. Everyone was crying, I cried too. But that was a little under thirteen years ago. I suppose thirteen years gives the heart time to mend. My family doesn’t cry as often now, only on the anniversary of my drowning. I miss my family. I miss my brother annoying me, and my parents nagging me and telling me what to do. I would do anything to be back with them. The last thing I said to my Mother was that I hated her. That’s far from the truth. I don’t hate her; I love her so much it hurts.