PART 6 – I Had Spent Years Learning How to Stay Calm in the Water, but Nothing Had Prepared Me for Searching for My Own Child

The water kept moving.

That was the hardest thing to accept.

Everything around me continued as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

Boats moved across the lake.

Wakes rolled past.

People were calling from different directions.

And my daughter was still missing.

I had spent six summers teaching lifeguard classes.

I knew the importance of staying focused during an emergency.

I knew that panic could interfere with decisions.

But I also knew that experience didn't make fear disappear.

I was terrified.

Every time I lifted my head, I searched for something familiar.

A small face.

Pink clothing.

Orange flotation material.

Anything.

I remembered Cassie's life jacket sitting in Trey's hand.

That image kept returning.

I had wanted that vest on her.

I had insisted on it.

My mother had complained about it.

And Trey had apparently decided that a seven-year-old's opinion mattered more than the safety rule her mother had established.

I couldn't stop thinking about that.

I also couldn't waste time thinking about it.

I needed to keep looking.

The distance from shore had felt manageable when I first entered the water.

Now I understood how different it was to search an open area without knowing exactly where someone had gone.

I didn't have a clear point to follow.

I had only the place where I had seen her fall.

And even that was an estimate.

I looked behind me.

The dock was farther away than I wanted it to be.

I could still make out the general activity around it.

I wondered what my father was doing.

I wondered whether my mother was still defending Trey.

But those thoughts didn't help me find Cassie.

I turned back toward the water.

I called her name.

I waited for some response.

Nothing.

I kept searching.

I remembered her little pink swimsuit.

I remembered the hair tie.

I remembered the orange vest.

Those were the things I could identify immediately.

They were also the things I couldn't find.

I had never imagined that a family holiday could turn into a search like this.

The Fourth of July had always meant food, fireworks, and too many people gathering around the same tables.

I had never thought of it as a day when I might be swimming through the lake looking for my daughter.

I wanted someone to tell me they had found her.

I wanted to hear that she was holding on somewhere.

I wanted to see her standing safely beside the dock.

But I had no such information.

So I continued doing the only thing I could do.

I searched.

Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Orange Vest Had Come Back Without Her, and Every Memory of That Afternoon Made My Brother’s Excuses Harder to Bear