Editor's note: The original version of this column was published April 26, 2015.
Warming weather each spring invariably triggers terrifying visions embroidered into my psyche.
And while I've written previously of that pivotal afternoon in 1980, I feel obliged to occasionally re-yank the chain of every parent with a small child and access to a swimming pool. A momentary diversion in such a seemingly placid setting sadly too often can and does become a matter of life or death.
So many of these tragedies can be avoided with the barest awareness and common sense.
My afternoon of stark terror occurred in Rancho Bernardo, Calif., where I'd moved with the family, including 2-year-old Anna and son Brandon, 10, to report for the Los Angeles Times.
We were visiting a neighbor's home for a warm evening's grill-out and a swim in their in-ground pool. The couple had a son and a daughter of the same ages, which meant the kids could keep each other occupied while we adults visited.
Normal stuff for a balmy summer's evening beneath palm trees.
I'd been comfortably seated on the patio overlooking the shallow end of the pool, watching both boys and the other father playing water volleyball on the chest-deep side. Anna was perched on the concrete near the shallow end, watching and laughing.
A voice inside the house shouted for help with carrying some food to the patio. Anna was doing fine, sitting there in full view of an adult and both boys. They'd watch. The other father was in the pool. And I'd only be away for a minute.
Through the kitchen's open window we could hear the hoots from the pool. Nothing seemed the slightest out of place.
Less than three minutes later I stepped back outside carrying a bowl and immediately scanned the area for Anna. The volleyball game was continuing a few feet away. Everything seemed as normal as it had been moments earlier.
Yet where was Anna? She'd just been sitting right there, near the corner.
With the sun fully set, underwater lights had kicked on. They cast a shimmering glow that made it difficult to detect anything inside the pool. Then my searching gaze focused on an odd twirling motion and what appeared to be a shadow beneath in the shallow end. From my odd angle, the surface disturbance looked like just some ripples. But what was causing them?
Oh, my God, the reality hit squarely in the gut. It was Anna's tiny fingertips circling the top of the water.
I dove into the water and grabbed her, hoisting her limp body onto the concrete poolside. She was unconscious. Not breathing. No, no! My thoughts pinballed in panic. Do I quickly roll her onto her side? No, wait, maybe onto her stomach. Yes. Force the water out and fast, hurry!
By this point, the noise of play several feet away had stopped. Everyone was hovering over us, including the wives who'd heard my shouts from inside. I remember their cries of deep anguish as I continued working to save Anna.
How could this have happened so quickly? And with three people so close by in the same pool? How? Why did I ever go inside? Why did I leave her unwatched? The questions exploded one after another as I continued pushing gently on Anna's fragile back and applying CPR. She remained unresponsive.
"Oh please, God, don't let our little girl die tonight!" My voice was cracking.
Nearly a minute passed. She remained unresponsive. Then suddenly--a ray of light in such crushing darkness. She coughed softly at first. A stream of water poured from her mouth, followed by another, and another. She began gasping for breath and coughing uncontrollably. I began shedding the kind of tears that only a stunned father who, with higher help, had faced down the monster of profound loss could release.
Anna sputtered a while longer and had fully recovered within an hour. She was even back to playing as if nothing had happened.
To this day when Anna and I speak of that evening, my voice still cracks and I feel moisture begin to bead at the corners of both eyes. Post-traumatic stress, perhaps.
My daughter, who would grow into a competitive swimmer in childhood and is now a retired Navy chief, says all she recalls from that night is a bright glow encircling her.
So, parents, grandparents, baby sitters, siblings, let my experience and every loss to drowning be a sincere warning to never turn your back for a minute, or assume that everything is fine when your child is in or near the water. Never.
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Mike Masterson's column appears regularly in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. Email him at [email protected].
Editorial on 05/02/2017