I could feel the baby wasn't dead. Her little brown body floated face down in the gentle waves. She did not struggle. She was part of the ocean and as it had attempted to take her life it was part of her.
Later I realized there was no reason for me to believe this little one was alive. But I felt her. Drawn to the body by an unseen magnet I pushed through the murky water in record time. I could feel the life inside this child with every fiber of my being. Her will was strong. A watery grave would not be her end. I felt her spirit calling for my help. I did not hesitate. I did not think. I only felt.
I hoisted her body up applying pressure to her chubby belly as I pulled her closer to shore. She wore only a pair of thin, dirty panties. I kept her body face down. She suddenly began to vomit vast amounts of filthy sea water. She choked and coughed and gasped for the air she had been denied. Only the angels in heaven know how long she had been on the brink of death. She was heavy and soft in my bony arms. Full of water and fear. I finally reached the sandy shore and collasped with the child still in my arms.
She looked up at me with enormous, brown blood shot eyes. Terrified. She could not have been more than two. I was relieved to hear her wail. She wailed with the passionate horror of a disoriented baby who had seen her short life flash cruelly before her.
The violent anger I felt vibrated through every cell in my eleven year old body. I shook with the passion if it. I began to scream in English and Spanish. I do not remember what I said, nor in what language I said it. But I wanted the guardians of this little brown baby to claim their child and see what their negligence could have caused. A drunk man came sauntering forward.
"I know this nina," he said in Spanish. "Her parents are having a party further up the beach. I will take her."
The child cried and clung to me.
"She will stay with me until they come for her themselves."
The man turned around and stumbled about on the beach of Puerto Penasco.
My mother and uncle found me. I relayed the story. My uncle made it his business to take the child to her parents and give them the tongue lashing of their lives. I'm told they were beside themselves with the grief of what could have occured.
I cried that night.
I have not thought of that experience in quite some time. I do not know why it comes to me now. I do know, however, that God watches over us all. I was inspired by a spirit unseen to assist my little sister. I don't know if anyone has ever told her the story. I never met her parents and I never saw her again. Perhaps to place themselves in better light she doesn't know she almost died that summer. One day she will.
I have a Heavenly Father who loves me and all His children. He knows our needs and the inner most desires of our hearts. He has an important plan for each of us. He heard the silent cries from the soul of one small and meek. He answered those cries by allowing me to be His servant. I am exceedingly grateful for the honor I had of preserving the life of another. I'm grateful that I was pure enough in spirit to hear the angels beckoning.
I would like to be that pure again. Innocence is something that can never be recaptured, can it? But honest, righteous living is acheivable. I often find it difficult to be what I should spiritually, but I know that when my heart is open to Him I am a powerful force for good.
