Our pool season is alway happily longer than our summer season. Andy will open the pool as soon as he detects a stretch of warm days, often in April or early May, and then we’ll keep it open until October, sometimes until there is snow surrounding the pool ladder, bending the grasses gone to seed so that they fall right into the water. It gives us what almost amounts to five months of swimming options – though that’s in theory only, as weather and whim play important parts in how much use a pool gets. As mentioned previously, this year was not a year in which I spent substantial time in the pool, which is somewhat of a sad thing to realize by the end of the season. Some things can’t be helped, and if there is an opportunity for some sort of last-minute reprieve, it’s worth making the attempt.
Still, I felt guilty for trying to go right back into the fun and sun of a summer which had taken such a toll on our family. In some strange way, it felt wrong to indulge and enjoy, and though my head understood that should not the case, I wanted to keep this summer as a somber and sacred space of time to honor my Dad.
That said, there was always something somewhat sad about swimming in the fall, and I understood that swimming now would be less of a celebratory jubilee and more of an exercise in closure. I didn’t want the pool to end on such a sadly-open-ended memory – the last time I swam was just as Dad was beginning his final decline. Part of me wanted to keep that as the last time I swam this year. A bigger part of me wanted to give some sort of finality to this pool season, and this summer, so as to not have it hanging over my head the entire winter. Better to break that sorrowful spell now and address what heartache might result before a fall and winter of mourning set in fully.
The weather confirmed the decision, and in the middle of the week I took off a few hours early from work and made my way to the steps of the pool. The sun was just about to drop behind the oaks and pines, but in the shallow end its light and warmth still filled the space. Faded remnants of the feeling of summer resurfaced as I hesitantly descended into the warm water. It felt good against my skin – warm and enveloping and comforting – and I walked deeper into the water. Floating into the deep end, my back felt instantly better, as gravity released some of its hold in my suspended state. The weight of the past summer lifted a little. I looked up at the sun, dappled through the leaves of an oak tree that had existed before I was born, a tree that looked to continue after I was long gone.
A bit of my sadness seeped into the water, but it was ok. No, it was good. It was proof that there could be sorrow and celebration coexisting. It was a way to say goodbye to this summer, and a way to see ahead to the next one.
