I wanted a house, he wanted a pool in the backyard. I didn’t want a pool, but I couldn’t say no. So in the blazing heat of summer, 2003, the pool contractor coerced men to dig and sculpt and craft a pool where once lay the beautiful lawn Tom had grown from seed.

It was a filthy, messy, dusty endeavor. Day by day, Tom pressed his face against the glass door watching his dream come to life. Labor Day arrived and the pool was ready for water. He stayed up all night ensuring the plaster was equally wetted as it cured. Tom loved that pool the way I loved my newborn babies. He nurtured it, cleaned it, monitored the chemicals, repaired the valves when they faltered and replaced the fins in the filter as they filled with debris. Every day for 17 years his first thought on rising from his slumber was “is the pump running?” After wishing me a good morning and filling his cup with hot, black coffee, Tom would head outside to visit with the embodiment of his chlorine scented dreams.

When we designed our desert oasis, Tom and I agreed that we must have a long, wide step for our yet unborn grandchildren. The designer talked us into a loveseat just for us in the deep end. We added a broad deck for sunbathing and a variety of other amenities to make this a place we would always enjoy. And we did. For 17 springs, summers, and autumns, the pool was our gathering point. The year our first grandchild was growing in her mother’s womb, Tom and I installed a fence — ourselves! We worked side by side digging great holes for posts he filled with concrete to ensure their stability. He learned how to cut through the aluminum frame to make each panel fit just right. We hung the gate then added more locks to be sure it was always safe for the the little child we didn’t yet know.

When the babies started coming, Tom taught each of them to swim. Not a fancy swim stroke, simply how to float and dog paddle and move their arms to propel themselves safely to the big step. He threw those babies high in the air, and I caught them, hugging them close to me until they were reaching out again to Poppa. As the kids grew, they hijacked the sunbathing deck for a cannonball contest platform. Peals of laughter rang out endlessly those summers. Barbecues smoked our dinners nearby, wet towels festooned the shrubs. It was paradise.

At night, after the kids were gone, we would pour a glass of iced tea and head out again, hand in hand, to sit quietly in each other’s embrace on that loveseat our designer had insisted we include. We talked and talked about everything and nothing at all. We kissed like teenagers, drinking in our love for one another. 17 wonderful years of us and our pool.

Parkinson’s had come to call at our home. It soon became apparent that Tom couldn’t manage the pool alone, so we hired weekly help. The sun beat down on his afflicted head and caused him to faint, so he couldn’t swim during the heat of the day anymore. One by one, the pleasures became burdens. The pool became my nightmare as I feared it would swallow him up one day.

But then, Covid arrived. It took only 30 days to fell the gentle giant. To vanquish my hero, to steal my lover, to break my children’s hearts and put an end to Poppa’s amazing hugs.

I refused to let Tom die in the hospital, frightened and alone. Somehow, our family talked and cajoled until we convinced the doctors to let us take him home. On the evening of January 16th, those beautiful blue eyes winked goodbye to me and our children then Covid blew out the flame of life in a man so kind, so gentle, so humble that the fulfillment of his greatest dream lay in the crystal blue waters of his beloved 6’ 6” deep, 32’ long, 16’ wide custom built pool.

Rest In Peace, my love. I hope there is a pool where you landed.