She nodded, her black hair tickling my nose, as the rumbling became a thunder, and then a roar.
“Try that now, okay, sweetie? Just count to ten and breathe, all right? Go ahead.”
And she started counting, her voice clear and child-like, her accent as strong as ever. “One (inhalation) ... two (inhalation) ... three ... four ...”
“Remember to breathe, honey; do it after every number. I’m right here. We’re all here. Your children and your parents and my Dad and all your friends. We’re in this together—every one of us. And I love you. More than you will ever know. Goodnight, honey.”
“Eight ... nine ... ten.” There was a moment of silence, or so it seemed. “I love you too, sweetheart.”
And then came the waters, surging, crashing, churning, roaring.
And we just breathed.
Deeply.
––––––––
