It began with our first son, Daniel. When Daniel was born, I had just turned 18. From the moment I learned that I was pregnant, I swore to Daniel and to myself that no matter what, I was not going to be an irresponsible teenage mom who depends on her parents for everything. I promised I was going to make something of myself for my children. I went to school, and I worked hard. We never had a lot of money in the bank, but Daniel always had more than he needed, and we were happy.

When Daniel was two, we decided it was time to add to our family. On February 12, 2001, our 6 lb. 8 oz. little peanut entered this world. Derek Samuel Gonzalez was finally here. Life was perfect, and our family was complete.

From the moment he was born, Derek was always a great baby. He slept through the night from two months on. He was healthy, happy and very independent.

As Derek got older, we knew exactly what a handful he would become. I used to say, “Good baby, mischievous toddler.” Derek was that times twenty. He was an adventurous child and not scared of anything. While Daniel tended to stay close to people he knew, Derek would yell, “Bye!” as I chased him through the store. Derek was a child who used the world as his playground. He lived fast, and he lived big. Nothing got in his way.

As any parent of an adventuresome child like Derek can appreciate, childproofing our home was a top priority. My kids did not even have dressers in their rooms because I was afraid Derek would climb on them and one would tip over, crushing him. My kids were not allowed to play outside alone. In my mind, I did what I needed to do to keep my kids safe. I was almost overprotective, trying to think of everything that could possibly harm them and then simply removing those dangers. Controlling our lives and surroundings meant safety.

A few months before that fateful day, Daniel, Derek and I were dancing in my room to the song “Cherish” by Madonna. He loved that song. We held hands and were standing in a circle just laughing, dancing and singing. We all eventually ended up on my bed jumping up and down. I can still see him smiling and laughing as I sit here and write this. Gosh, I miss him so much.

He was always so happy. He loved everyone and everything, and his world revolved around his big brother. He looked up to Daniel and would follow him everywhere. Daniel used to get upset when he wanted alone time, but Derek never cared. He just wanted Daniel. He even made up his own nickname for him. Derek called Daniel “Habi,” and let me tell you, your guess is as good as ours.

In the end, Derek was just this bright light that never dulled. He brought joy, love and laughter into so many lives, and I hope that this story touches you. Maybe tonight you will look at your child while they throw a tantrum, and just smile. Maybe you’ll hug them a little tighter and tell them you love them just one more time. I hope that you are able to do with your child what I can no longer do with mine, and I think Derek will smile because of it. I know I will.

March 29, 2004. The day our hell began. The day our hearts stopped. The day the sky went gray. The day my little light burned out.

It started out like any other day. I left for work at about 5:30 a.m. and kissed Derek goodbye. For the past few months he had started sleeping with his dad and me in our bed. Everything was normal.

I knew my mom was off that day and would be watching Derek and Daniel for me. The day dragged on like any other, except for the fact that before leaving for work I had come across a story about a little boy that had drowned. They had discovered that the mother’s ex-boyfriend had lured this child from the apartment while his mother slept and encouraged him to walk into the complex’s pool area. He then drowned the child and tried to make it look as if someone had left the pool gate open and that the child had just wandered in. I remember feeling sick and feeling like I wanted to cry. How could someone do that? Why would someone do that? Then I looked over at the pictures of my kids and smiled and was thankful. I had my babies.

I left work not knowing that our life was about to completely change.

I got home at about 3:00 p.m., and when I pulled up, there was Derek. He had been helping my brother clean out his car. My brother had rolled down the windows but had closed all of the doors so that Derek would not wander as he cleaned. Derek saw me and reached outside of the window and yelled, “Momma!” I said, “Hi, baby,” and then scooped his little, sweaty self up and took him inside. As I changed my clothes and settled in with the kids I noticed that the house was very hot. I went over to the thermostat, but the air conditioner would not come on.

After talking to my mom I discovered that it had not been working all day. At that point my brother had come inside the house and went into his room to shower. His room, which was more like an apartment, had its own entrance leading to the side of the house. I knew the breakers were on that side of the house and that I needed to reset them to see if that would fix the air conditioner. I went to my brother’s bedroom door, found it to be locked and hesitated for a second. I remember having a short conversation in my head.

“Just wait. He won’t be that long, and then reset the breakers,” I thought. It was hot, though.

I brushed the idea of waiting off as nonsense and went into my backyard and opened the back gate that also led to the side yard. The gate had started dragging on the ground so it was very hard to re-lock, but in my head again I thought, “It will be okay because Dan will be home soon and he can re-lock the gate.” I opened it and reset the breakers, but nothing happened. I went back through the gate and pushed it closed. I can remember that the gate was so heavy and was dragging so bad that it screeched when I closed it and left marks on the ground.

I went inside and called an air-conditioner repairman.

Derek and I were sitting in the living room on the tile floor watching the five o’clock news. Derek had just finished a lollipop. The windows and doors were all open because it was so hot. Derek had started throwing the lollipop stick at the ceiling fan, so I told him to throw the stick away.

He pointed to the backyard and said, “Out there?”

I said, “No, in there,” pointing to our laundry room.

He said, “No, out there!”

We went back and forth for a few minutes, and finally I said, “Fine, Derek, but hurry and come back.”

We had a large, covered patio that had a trashcan on it. It was just outside the open back door, so I figured it would not hurt anything. I was right there.

He was all smiles as he went outside. Seconds passed and he did not come back. I started calling his name. No answer. I got up and went outside. He was nowhere.

I checked by the RV gate. Nothing. I ran to the other side of the yard where I had gone out the gate earlier, and I pulled the gate open. Nothing. I ran to the front of the yard. No Derek. I ran down the street. No Derek. Where is he? I knew he could not make it far; it had been only seconds.

I ran back home. My mom, brother and I checked the whole house. My brother got in the car and drove around. I asked a little boy across the street if he had seen Derek, and he told me he saw him going to the park. I ran. I got there and asked some elderly ladies, but they had not seen him. I ran back home and called 911. We could not find him anywhere. In the meantime, the repairman had shown up as I was standing out front with the phone in my hand, waiting for the police. I told him to do what he needed to but that I could not help him because my son was missing.

I was standing there, and I looked to my left. I thought to myself, “Oh, my God, my neighbors have a pool.” I walked to the gate slowly. It looked like it was shut. I pushed it, and it swung right open. I saw Derek’s shorts by the edge. I just knew.

I ran to the pool and saw Derek floating face down in the deep end. His diaper was on. I threw the phone, pulled him out of the pool and started screaming for help. I laid him down, and his lips were purple. His eyes were so empty. I was screaming and doing CPR. The neighbor came out to help me. He told me he was CPR trained, but as the CPR continued and the vomit started coming out, I saw him shy away. I yelled at him to move, and I continued the CPR. His color was coming back. In the middle of all of this, the neighbor’s son had called 911 too. I was begging Derek to come back to me. I told him to wake up and to breathe.

The paramedics arrived and made me leave. The officers, about ten of them, were questioning me. I was in such a state of confusion, denial and shock that I was not hearing their questions. All I wanted to know was, is my baby okay? No one would answer me. They took Derek by ambulance and would not let me or Derek’s dad go with him. Instead, I asked if my mom could go, and they said yes. They took me to the hospital in one squad car and made Dan, Derek’s father, ride in the back of another squad car. Later we learned that we were under investigation.

Even as the doctor came in and told me those words that no parent ever wants to hear, “We are sorry but there is nothing more we can do,” I felt like the doctor was investigating me. I can remember her cold, blue eyes looking into mine. My heart had just been ripped out and I was screaming and she just stared at me.

My son is dead but I still have one more heart to break. I walked into the hallway and saw my five-year-old son, Daniel, sitting on the floor. You cannot imagine what it is like to tell a five-year-old that his brother is gone. He knows what death is. He understands it, and now he gets to live it. I just held Daniel. It was all I could do. There is no I am sorry or it will all be okay. All we could do was cry. We decided to donate Derek’s organs. After saying our goodbyes, we started the cold and quiet ride home.

So much has happened since we laid half of our hearts to rest. We went through anger, denial and blame. Dan and I split about a year later, and we both have learned to live again in our own way. We are now very good friends and will be laid to rest together next to Derek.

The first year I was numb. I was just there. I did what I had to, but it was almost as though someone else was taking my place while I was out. Year two was when the pain hit the hardest. I could no longer pretend that it was all a bad dream. Year three and four were learning how to really live again, and that is when I learned acceptance, compassion and understanding.

This is where the lessons Derek left for us to learn really became clear. I think as a society we quickly point the finger at another’s faults. It helps make our homes and families seem safer. In my mind, I had done everything right. I did not even have a pool. I thought my home was safe. I did not think about my neighbor’s home. In the end, accidents happen, and they can happen to good people. I have come to accept that we all make mistakes, and that what happened that day was no one’s fault.

A swimming pool can be a deadly and enticing toy for a young child. Today, when I hear of a drowning, my first reaction is not to ask where were the parents, but instead I just hope the baby is okay.

Finger pointing and blame get us nowhere. It does not change the fact that a swimming pool can be a dangerous weapon. If telling my story can save even one child from drowning, Derek’s tragic death then stands for something.

I love you, Derek. You have shown me what it means to really live and what it means to really appreciate every God-given day. Pain, if used in the right way, can bring good. You have given me patience and understanding. You have shown me that we all bleed red and have reminded me that we are all human.

Please watch your kids around water, but please also watch for water around your kids. That was my mistake.

Diane Sevey wrote this powerful essay at the request of The Times. It is intended to serve as a warning to anyone with children and illustrate how dangerous a pool can become, even when a pool is fenced. We would like to thank Diane for being so candid in sharing this lesson-filled story.