Pool side is my best side. –Unknown

Our backyard pool–by any stretch of the imagination–is humble. It’s a 15 ft. above ground pool from Walmart that we’ve had for three years. We bought it during the pandemic when pools were nearly impossible to find, so we felt we’d struck gold when we located one (there was literally only ONE) in Des Moines. We counted our lucky stars as we drove home with our new pool in the back of the truck. Since we bought the pool, we’ve added a pool deck, a cement base and stone surround, and dug it into the hillside so that when you’re floating in it, it’s almost like an infinity pool. Beyond the pool edge is a span of timber–green as far as the eye can see.

I’ve come to love the pool as much or more than my grandson, Griffin. We’re faithful pool users, logging more hours in the water than I can count. Sometimes, we swim twice or three times a day because we can. There is no trip to town involved, no tickets to buy, and no line at the concession stand. Here, the snacks are plentiful and free, just inside Grandma’s house. So, what’s not to love?

Each year, Griff and I wait in anticipation for the pool to go up. And each year, he gets in as the pool is being filled with water from the hose so cold it’s numbing. But he insists that it’s not so bad, that it’s worth blue lips. This past summer, he and I have spent almost every afternoon in the pool, and during those hours, I’ve come to know and love him even more (if that’s possible).

We shared afternoons of bull riding during which he flails around on a pool noodle-become-bull, as I count down the 8 seconds, and make the buzzer noise. I’m also in charge of providing the play action for each ride. We’ve shared afternoons of sea exploration during which he dons his scuba mask and scours the pool/ocean bottom for a variety of creatures that he retrieves and deposits on my floatie. Again, I’m responsible for identifying and counting the creatures he captures. We’ve spent afternoons during which my floatie is a race car, and he’s the mechanic who gasses and tunes me up, and then speeds me across the diameter of the pool. We’ve spent afternoons during which he performs an array of tricks, from handstands to sommersaults, on which I score him. I admit that I’m a generous scorer; he always earns at least a 9.

One afternoon, however, he flipped off the back of his floatie into the pool and emerged saying, Well, I’ve been to heaven and just saw my Great Grandma Lois. Really, I said, that’s pretty amazing. Yeah, he said, well, I going to make another trip. He flipped into the water and lay submerged on the bottom for awhile. When he surfaced, he announced, I’ve just seen your Dad. He’s working at a pharmacy. He’s working at a pharmacy? I wanted clarification to be sure that I actually heard this. Yes, but he’s still writing poetry, he said. While he works at the pharmacy? I asked. And after he gets off work, he added. There was something in his eyes as he recounted his visits to heaven, something soft which suggested that he understood how important and comforting it was that he report back on my dad. Although the entire conversation was imaginary–and comical, to be sure–it also testified to his belief in a heavenly home after death. At nine, he’d clearly thought about this and wanted to reassure me that my dad was doing well selling Pepto Bismol and Tylenol at some pharmacy beyond the pearly gates–and writing poetry, of course, in the break room.

When I recently told Griffin that he had 10 swimming days left until school started, he said, Wait, what? 10 days, are you sure? His dismay only matched mine. We have just a few last days in the pool together until another school year begins, and we take down the pool for the season. I’m painfully aware that I have precious time left when he’ll want to hang out with his grandma in a pool that’s only 3 ft. deep. And I’m aware that he won’t always want to tell me the kinds of things I’ve learned this summer, that as he enters his teenage years, I’ll often be met with stony silence and the obligatory yes/no answers.

But I will take every minute, every pool-filled afternoon, every confidence he offers. For in the sanctuary of our pool, we’ve lived a thousands lives and have seen the world in our 4,646 gallons of chlorinated water. We’ve ventured into the areas of philosophy and theology, as well as learned a thing or two about the best way to do a back sommersault. Best of all? We’ve lived it together. Our pool has, indeed, been a sanctuary. There are approximately 270 days until that wondrous day next May when the pool goes up, and the floaties come out. It goes without saying that Griffin and I will be faithfully counting them down.