I was swimming laps early, my mind full of Dad. My stroke was fast and automatic, my shoulder muscles were burning and my heart rate was high, but I didn’t stop until I’d gone into that space where there was no more thought, just me, the water, and the air I pulled into my lungs.
The memories were like images in a television advertisement, each imposed quickly on the other. I had to watch them to the end, and then maybe I could understand. Dad first brought me to this pool when I was a baby. He loved to tell me how I took to the water immediately, how excited I was when we walked through the door and I knew I was going for my swimming lesson.
My first conscious memory was of when I was four, and we’d come to the pool after kinder. I was kicking on a paddleboard with the other kids, and D
