The Pool That Was Never Allowed to Be Empty
For more than two decades, our backyard swimming pool was the center of our family’s summers.
My sons, Caleb and Mason, learned to swim there.
We celebrated birthdays beneath striped umbrellas, ate watermelon on the warm stone deck, and remained outside until the underwater lights turned the pool an electric shade of blue.
My husband, Richard, maintained everything himself.
Every Saturday morning, he tested the water, cleaned the filters, and brushed the tiles with the same concentration other people reserved for repairing antique furniture.
The pool had been built by Richard’s father, Walter.
At least, that was what I believed.
Whenever I suggested hiring a professional to inspect it, Richard refused.
“Dad built it correctly,” he would say.
As the pool aged, several tiles cracked. The drain became unreliable, and the diving board developed a slight tilt.
Still, Richard would not allow anyone to empty it.
“It has never been drained,” he told me. “The pressure keeps the structure stable.”
I believed him because Richard was a civil engineer.
I assumed he knew more than I did.
After Walter died at 84, Richard became even more protective of the pool.
He spent the morning after the funeral floating alone in the deep end.
When I asked what he was doing, he said he was remembering his father.
Two weeks later, a crack appeared beneath the diving board.
Water began leaking into the flower beds.
Richard was attending a three-day conference several hours away. I sent him a photograph and asked whether I should call someone.
His reply arrived immediately.
Do nothing until I get home.
Then the crack widened.
By morning, part of the stone deck had sunk.
Waiting was no longer safe.
I called a local pool company.
That decision ended my marriage and returned two stolen daughters to our family.