Sidelines
Swimmers return
to pool for MikeTHERE were brave faces, on the brink of tears. There were hugs and laughs, and plenty of smiles, with the sadness just underneath.
Brave, brave faces.
They warmed up as they always did, as they were doing four days ago when their friend and teammate Mike Sheldt was with them. Before the horror and the ambulance, and the crying and the shock, before all of the anatomy lessons and medical facts they'd wished they'd never had to learn. Before it hit them for good that he was gone, just gone.
But here they were, again, last night, warming up and joking and laughing, and lifting each other, the way teams do.
"We're gonna survive this," Hawaii swimming coach Mike Anderson said before last night's Last Chance meet started.
But then his voice cracked during the official ceremony, at taking that next hard step, of having to try and sum up a life.
It was another rope bridge of a smile that somehow held back a torrent of tears.
"I know Mike is here," he said, "with that silly grin of his, looking down at all of us."
And they all smiled, somehow, even as the tears fell.
"Above all," Anderson said, closing, imploring, "cherish other people. More than things. More than stuff. Those are just things that disappear or they wear out. Cherish people. Cherish each other."
And then came a haunting Hawaiian chant, as Mr. Sheldt held his wife, cradling her as he closed his eyes.
Hers were open, her head resting on him, facing it all with a sad smile as she wiped away a tear.
The pool was so blue, then, its ripples so perfect. Mike's teammates stood behind four baskets placed on four starting blocks. They stood like soldiers, serious in their responsibility.
The honor guard flipped the baskets open. Pigeons flapped out, with a perfect fluttering sound, circling around the diving tower, back over the grandstand, and off into the distance. Flying away into the evening sky.
And the meet was on.
"Event one. Behind your decks, please."
And then they swam. Furiously. Gloriously, with great splashes. For him. For themselves. For everyone there. For everything, these past four days. They swam. Lifting each other, the way teams do.
And Mike's parents would walk, hand in hand, around the pool, somehow finding laughter in each other's comfort. Astounded by this outpouring of love, but not really. They knew Mike was this great. They'd always known.
And later they were at poolside. Mrs. Sheldt shouted encouragement in a joyous rhythm when each UH swimmer came up for air, when she knew they could hear. She shouted with her whole body, with all of her heart, the way moms do.
Her husband hung back a little, his eyes red, his face sad.
But there was a hint of a smile there, even through all of this. He laughed when people told him stories about Mike.
You could see his son in him.
You could see Mike in all of them.
Kalani Simpson can be reached at ksimpson@starbulletin.com