Nearly thirteen years ago on an August afternoon, I was in Santa Ana, El Salvador, attending the funeral of my abuelita, Fina Linda. It was my first time in El Salvador and it would be an understatement to say I was nervous. My cousin was in the U.S. on political asylum. My uncle's businesses had been the target of bombings. Other cousins had been kidnapped. Family had slept on the floors of their homes for nights on end while war was waged in their neighborhoods, bullets passing through walls and windows.
As my mom, sister, brother and I stood in the church amidst family and friends of Abuelita, crashing, bomb-like sounds erupted around us. My heart raced wondering if we were in the middle of crossfire. I glanced at my Tias and cousins looking for reassurance the way you watch flight attendants during turbulence -- if they don't look worried, all is good. Relatives were amused as I appeared to turn from a 22-year-old, fresh college graduate to a frightened 10-year-old girl who needed her mommy. Tia leaned over to me and whispered, "No te preocupes, solo es trueno." "Don't worry, it's just thunder." Thunder that happened to sound like a missile had just crushed every single building around us to bits of dust.
The thunder continued, followed by a torrential downpour as we left the church. A tropical storm, I learned, that was a daily occurrence since it was winter. My siblings and I laughed as we walked to the car, our hair stringy, our clothes dripping. It was as if Abuelita had planned it, wanting to cast a sense of rejuvenation and new beginnings with fresh, pounding rain. Wash away the old, nourish the new.
***
Rain has fallen for six straight days. I awoke this morning to water pellets hitting our roof and immediately realized I would have my swim lesson in the rain while the temperature barely hit 45 degrees. I waited too long to get ready, procrastination at its finest. When I finally arrived at the pool, I found my instructor running late too as we passed each other in the hall to the pool.
"I'll be there in two minutes," he grinned.
"We're both late," I said, "It's cold. It's okay."
We both made it to the pool, steam rolling across the water. Flippers on, legs and arms stretched, we laughed as the rain fell harder. He mapped out the training plan for my session and so I began my warm up laps to the middle of the pool. I could hear the raindrops dancing on the top layer of water as my eyes remained focused on the black lane lines. I instinctively stop at the four-and-a-half foot mark, not wanting to go beyond where the floor begins to slope and my feet can't touch the bottom. But something about that sound of rain on the water, it made me want to go on.
"Are we going all the way this time?" my instructor asked after a few more warm up laps to tweak my form and breathing.
A deep breath and a quick push-off the wall, I accepted the challenge. Something clicked. Every motion felt natural. My pace, my arms, my breathing. Every single thing.
"That was really great," my instructor said with genuine pride as I reached the wall at the deep end. I felt like a child who had just learned how to ride a bike without training wheels for the first time.
"Yeah!" I cheered, catching my breath.
I swam four more full laps and with each stroke I soaked in the sound of the rain. Finally out of breath, I called it a day, but so filled with adrenaline and excitement that I couldn't contain how happy and empowered I felt. Only a few months ago I could barely use my arms and legs in the pool at the same time. And here I was, swimming the freestyle with real form and the correct body mechanics. Is there such a thing as "swimmer's high"?
"See you next week -- and hopefully it won't be raining," he said as he want over to his next student -- a three-year-old boy learning how to swim only in the deep end.
"Hopefully it is raining," I said, "it seems to be working for me."
***
Perhaps it's the Latin, spiritual side of me, but there are moments since my Abuelita's death that I feel she's graced my life with her watchful eyes. Whether it's successfully replicating one of her recipes or finding a little bird singing on our front porch, watching the boys as they play, something just makes me feel it without rational explanation.
As I got out of the pool, the rain reminded of that moment in El Salvador. For a miserable, wet winter day, it was pretty close to perfect. And all I could think of were the words, "a new beginning."
Nourish the new.
