I swore that I'd take this story to my grave, but ever since it's happened, it's been

weighing down on me each day, threatening to crush my mind.

This left thicker of hope that someone out there who's experienced something similar to this might read and understand, that maybe the fragmented pieces might fall into place.

Since childhood, I've always been drawn to the beach.

In the summer, I live for the days where we'd head out to the beach,

where I'd enjoy stifling car trips to tumble about on the golden shore. It was no surprise to anyone who knew me that I became

a lifeguard. It's not all bronzed gods and goddesses in tight red swimsuits to the rescue

in slow motion. It's sweltering for 40 hours a week on land,

trying to keep sight of 200 people, strangers whose very lives you've sworn to protect.

There are the odd few rescues, but their children are. lives you've sworn to protect?

There are the odd few rescues, but their children and adults, the latter more

inebriated, who sum out too far from shore.

Still, I can't deny the fulfillment I get. whenever I jump into the water with rescue tube in my hand.

My free time was spent there, surfing or swimming, or just sitting on a rock, listening

to the waves crashing into each other.

The beach was almost a part of me.

I thought that I was prepared for anything.

I wasn't.

It happened last July during peak beach-going season where the beach was so

packed that not a single square foot of golden sand could be seen hidden under

blankets and deck chairs.

Then a series of show shrieks burst into the air,

...