Drowned father didn't have a choice
My younger sister and I loved playing with our father in the cove. We found relief from swelteringly hot summer days while splashing, laughing, and hugging his broad shoulders, secure in his arms as he’d lift us up and swirl us, our toes leaving a wake of ripples.
He showed us there was nothing to fear in the mysterious world of water. We knew we were safe wherever he was. We’d drift and delight in cool waters off Jupiter Point for hours at peace. Those were blissful moments and are precious memories.
Seeing the picture recently of an innocent little girl with her arm around her daddy’s neck as mine had so many times been around my father’s I can barely contemplate what terrors went through them. Oscar Martinez and his daughter perished in the waters of the Rio Grande while desperately seeking safe harbor.
Shelter, sanctuary, a little girl and her father’s dreams interwove with marsh reeds and the soft muds that enfolded them when they died.
Hermann Hesse wrote, “When suffering becomes acute enough, one goes forward.”
I never agreed Melania’s “I don’t care, do U?” jacket was accidental. And I believe Martinez didn’t have another choice, don’t you?
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