Thursday night I picked up my brother Hank and a crew of two paid observers, a kayaker and a first mate, at the Isthmus on Catalina Island so that he could, for his fifth time, swim over to Palos Verdes. He chooses the depth of night to undertake this challenge for it is then when the sea is most settled. For ten hours and fourteen minutes, it was my job to guide the boat near the kayaker who was escorting my brother. Hank has said these night swims are akin to being in a watery womb. That night, with the engine purring quietly and nothing but a bobbing green light against the ebony water revealing his location; with the half-moon red and sinking down into the sea, the night black and snug and the crew silent and sipping strong coffee, observing, I intuited a waiting, a guarding, a shepherding and a cherished loving that felt like hope, that felt like life.