Ailish O’Beirne

Literacy Narrative

10/18/19

July 26, 2017; the worst day of my life.

It was a sunny, hot day out on the boat in the Atlantic Ocean right off the shores of Cape

Cod. My family had owned a house in Onset, Massachusetts for a few years at this point. Every

summer and every available weekend was spent here, all six of us - which often ended up being

at least twelve because of the friends and family we would bring - and the small house would

always be crammed, but filled with laughter and joy. From the countless card games, to daily

swims in the ocean, to boat rides with my Dad, or walking through the town and saying “hi!” to

everyone we passed by, this town was my favorite place. An escape from my suburban

hometown of Sudbury, Massachusetts, I enjoyed every second of what felt like a vacation each

and every time.

The Cape Cod Town of Onset, MA was where I felt most like myself as a kid. I knew

everyone, and everything about the town. It was my second home, sometimes feeling more like

my home than my actual house in Sudbury, MA. Every summer, I would roam the streets,

exploring everything; from beaches, to small stores, to bridges, and local restaurants, I knew the

town like the back of my hand. I loved Onset with all of my heart, and every weekend I would

beg my parents to go back.

July 26, 2017 marks the day everything changed. A day spent tubing on the boat with

family and friends was filled with radiating joy. My brother and I were out on the boat which
belonged to our family friends the O’Connors, my “surrogate family,” and their other close

friends the Cooneys. Twelve of us on a small sport boat, nine of which were kids. The

competitive nature shined brightly, as we would try to see who could stay on the tube for the

longest time, despite the sharp and ruthless turns Mr. Cooney would take. I was never very good

at it, but I would still try my very best. But I loved the water, I never minded falling in because I

loved the ocean and always had. My Mom would call me a “little dolphin” because of how much

I loved to swim as a kid. The kids were not happy to hear the dreaded words, “It’s time to go

back for dinner” from Mrs. O’Connor’s mouth, because we all could have and wanted to stay out

there forever.

Once everyone hauled the tube back into the boat, Mr. Cooney turned the boat around to

make the journey back to Onset. Everyone argued who could sit in the “best” seats in the front,

and I being the oldest kid, sat in the back in an effort to create peace among the others. Charlie,

Adam and I all sat back there, and watched the wake our boat created as we rode back. The wind

began to pick up, and I was feeling a bit chilly, so I wrapped a towel over my whole body and

head, in an effort to keep warm. “Paris” by the Chainsmokers blasted through the radio on the

boat, and everyone was singing along. The boat came to a sudden stop, and I slipped off the back

bench onto the floor of the boat. I lifted the towel off my head to look at what was happening.

Mrs. O’Connor was turned around to help me back up, when I saw the wave. A seemingly

perfect day took the darkest, most devastating turn. All because of one wave. One wave that

dwarfed our 22-foot boat. One wave that turned the inexplicable happiness into

stomach-churning fear. One wave that changed me - a 16-year-old girl - from a child into an

adult.
 The boat was no match for a wave of this size. As the boat began to quickly fill with

water, everyone began to panic. “Someone call 911!” Mrs. O’Connor shrieked. I took out my

phone, and began to type in my passcode, but it was too late. The boat turned perpendicular to

the water, and I was flung off. The wave capsized our little boat, leaving all twelve of us - as

little heads bobbing in the Atlantic. The water was cold, and yet unlike anything I had ever

experienced. I always loved being in the ocean, but this was different. The usual uncontainable

bliss I felt while swimming, was overtaken by unexplainable fear. I looked around, and grabbed

my little brother in one arm out of instinct. A split second passed until the realization that while

there should have been twelve bobbing heads, there were only eleven. The fear immediately

turned into terror as it became clear that none of us could find the youngest member aboard the

boat - an 8-year-old boy.

This was not just any 8-year-old boy. He was Harry O’Connor. Harry was bright blonde,

curly headed boy who was like a little brother to me, whom I had babysat, driven to countless

playdates and practices. Whenever he saw me he would always run up to me and hug me, almost

tackling me to the ground. I knew him better than many - I knew his likes and dislikes, and his

favorite movie (which was our secret because he was too embarrassed to share with most) was

the modern rendition of the musical ​Annie​. However, most importantly, Harry was my birthday

buddy: we were both born on March 23, and we spent every birthday together.

Painful screams came from Mrs. O’Connor, as she desperately dove under the capsized

boat in attempt to save her little boy. The rest of us in shock, watched the horrifying scene play

out. I knew at this moment, as the oldest child on board, that I had to do something. I held on

tightly to my younger brother in one arm, and turned to the left and grabbed the three
terror-stricken siblings. We formed a circle - the five of us - linked arm in arm. The tears and

screams came flowing out of everyone, but I knew I had to stay strong. I looked around, and all I

could see was water and waves, we were far from shore. I reassured them that everything was

going to be ok, even trying to reassure myself of the fact, and we began to pray the rosary for a

miracle. What felt like hours stranded in the ocean was only 15 minutes. Then we saw a sailboat

come to our rescue, and we frantically waved it down..

We got pulled up and out of the water, and the panic magnified. Two of the adults stayed

with the overturned boat as the coast guard arrived, while we were pulled away. Two men

hoisted all of us up and out of the water, one by one, and we were then brought back to shore. A

deafening silence came over all of us. A phone of one of the men aboard was passed to my

trembling hands as I called my parents over and over again, only to reach voicemail.

Ambulances awaited us at the shore when we arrived, but luckily none of us had anything

worse than a few bruises. We were asked over and over again, “What happened?” but shock left

our answers incoherent. We were brought to Tobey Hospital in Wareham, MA where my parents

met us and all the other kids. All of us sitting in a private room in the ER, with CNN on TV.

Videos of our overturned boat were being plastered on the screen, where we all watched in awe,

and Adam jokingly stated, “Look we’re famous!” That’s when the nurses turned it off. Not too

long after being force fed saltine crackers and apple juice, we learned that they found Harry. A

sense of relief came over us all, and smiles were shared. A local diver came on his boat when he

heard the mayday call, and dove under the boat, retrieving Harry after being submerged for 11

minutes. Harry was alive but he was in critical condition and had been airlifted to Mass General

Hospital in Boston.
 The next three days in and out of the hospital were grueling, somber and the scariest days

of my life, yet they were still filled with hope. The daily visits were traumatizing, seeing the once

lively child, in the ICU, unrecognizable with all the tubes and machinery keeping him alive. We

brought stuffed animals, balloons, cards and made bracelets, in an attempt to brighten up the

small hospital room. However a few serious talks were had and by the time the weekend came

around, we were planning the funeral for my favorite birthday buddy.

The following months were and tremendously difficult for me. A place that was once

filled with only happiness and joy, turned into a living nightmare. I refused to go back there for

all it did was remind me of the pain of loss. A place where it was once difficult to get me to

leave, became a place I vowed to never visit again. My family knew the best thing for the family

was to sell that house since, it served as a reminder of the tragedy that was July 26, 2017.

Eventually we bought a new cape house further in the cape, in a town called Mashpee.

As time went on, it got less and less difficult to deal with the pain. The event permanently

changed me, and has left me with the diagnosis PTSD. It took me two months to even swim in a

pool again, and a year until I stepped foot in the ocean. I eventually began to go to the Cape

every weekend again, but it was never the same and it never will be. To this day, I have not been

on a boat out on the ocean and I am not sure I will ever be able to. I never have experienced the

joy to the same extent as I did when I was a kid in the water, or even just being on the Cape.

As I was saying my goodbyes to Harry in the hospital room, his mother said, “Now you

have to celebrate enough for the both of you on your birthday,” and I will for my favorite

birthday buddy for the rest of my life.