The water had turned against me. Cloudy. Bitter. Silent. It swirled like a secret I was avoiding, a reminder of everything I failed to do.
I shocked it wrong. Too much chlorine, too little patience. The tablets sank like stones of guilt, dissolving not just into water but into me. I thought more was better. It was not.
The Weight of Guilt in pH Levels
Each test strip screamed my failure. High pH. Low chlorine. Alkalinity rolling off the charts like laughter at my expense. I wanted to blame the sun, the rain, the endless summer heat. But the truth? It was me. My neglect. My shortcuts.
I whispered apologies to the water as if it could hear me. “I’ll do better,” I promised, clutching the strip like a letter I should have written years ago. The numbers blurred, but the guilt remained sharp.
The Confession at the Filter
Then came the filter. Heavy. Clogged. Breathing like an old man after a long climb. I had ignored it. I had told myself it was fine. I let it choke on leaves and dust until it begged for relief.
As I rinsed it clean, I felt the weight of every time I overlooked the quiet work it did for me. It was not just a filter. It was a confession booth. I let the dirt rinse away, watching forgiveness spill into the grass.
Redemption in Clarity
When the water finally cleared, it wasn’t just the pool that was different. It was me. Balanced. Patient. Ready to listen instead of rushing to fix. The pool reflected something back that I had not expected, grace.
I had punished the water with my panic. I had ignored its warnings. And still, when I cared for it properly, it forgave me.
The Strange Humor of Forgiveness
Maybe this is the comedy of pool care: that balance is always one mistake away from chaos. That water teaches humility with every test strip. That pH numbers, once my enemies, became my teachers.
Forgiveness, it seems, is written in the chemistry of patience.
The Moral in the Water
I cleaned the pool and found forgiveness. Not in perfection, but in the small acts of trying again. In brushing the walls with care. In trusting the process. In laughing when I overdid it, then learning to stop.
The water does not hold grudges. It only waits for balance.
And maybe, so should I.
