I sit on the edge of the deck every morning
as I go over the choice I made last year.
At a girl’s night out, friends asked each other:
“If your husband and child fell into the ocean,
Who would you save first?”
Of course, a woman is expected to
give the politically correct answer.
All the members pronounced
it had to be their golden child but
shuddered at the thought of making
the terrible choice in real life.
Then on a beautiful Sunday morning,
a drunk boater hit us and our family
of three flipped into the deep water.
My husband hit his head before
falling and my son panicked.
I had to make a snap decision as
both began to sink beneath the sea.
I wonder if I’d be happier if
I had chosen to save the other as
regret haunts my dreams each night.
The world judged me as if they
would have made the right choice.
Either way would have blown up
the perfect world I had made.
Everyone abandoned us, the survivors
of that fateful day, floating aimlessly
from one gray day to the next.
And each day like clockwork,
he comes outside and waves at me
and I wave back, thankful for him
but always longing for the one
I couldn’t save.