Just Keep Swimming

 

It’s getting hotter out. The temperatures are skirting 100°, which means that the pool is warming up. I’ve already been in a couple of times—once with the pup and the other to swim laps. There’s something peaceful about being in the water. I’ve loved lakes, oceans, pools, and waterparks all of my life. I’ve passed this “bug” onto both of my boys. Summer time means pool time.

The end of the school year and the arrival of summer was always exciting. Sure, part of it was because the daily grind came to an end for a month or two. But mostly it was because I had ample time with my kids. And a big part of that once included spending time in the pool. And since I worked in education, I kept the same schedule as the kids. The smell of sunscreen still evokes calming memories for me. Drifting beneath the surface makes me feel like I’ve somehow found an old home that I’ve been missing. And being in the water is yet another way to commune with Zane.

We have a pretty large, diving pool, so it takes a minute or two longer to heat up during the summer than others do. Right now, it’s still a little too cool for Zaner to go in—if he were still here. But I always remember how much he loved being in water. For him, it meant the freedom to move his arms and legs in a way he never could on land. There was a lot of preparation that went into taking him in, from getting sunscreen on to getting him dressed to making sure his flotation device was in place. For a long time, I only used a neck float, which kept his arms and legs completely untethered. Eventually that alone wasn’t safe enough, so I created a makeshift set-up of pool noodles and a bigger neck float. The summer before he died, I invested in an expensive, adaptive, fabric float that he only used a few times. I wound up donating it shortly after he died.

I will always cherish the times we spent with him in the water. After 45 minutes, he was done, and that was okay. I’d shower him, put lotion and dry clothes on, and he and his sun-kissed skin would take a much-needed nap. Then my older son and I would head back out to play some more.

From where I’m writing, I can look out into the backyard and see the pool. I remember all those times with him and hold them close to my heart. I can only hope he’s free to move and swim and see the ocean from wherever he may be. I have a strong spiritual belief that life doesn’t end after we physically die. I honestly think that we’re the ones who are tethered now, and he’s the one carefree and wondering when we’re going to stop working and get back in the pool.