By Marcelle Dibrell

Every week I cry about kids who drowned in swimming pools.

I write for a newspaper, and part of my job each week is to write about recent cases of child drownings. It almost always makes me cry.

I write that the numbers of American kids who die each year in swimming pools (about 380) are more than just statistics. And if you think about drowning as much as I do, it’s a lot more personal.

There was an unforgettable case involving two brothers who were being watched (not watched) by Grandma as they played in a tent near the pool. They had zipped themselves into the tent, and rough-housing must have ensued, because they were found later in the pool, still zipped inside. Imagine the boys trying to claw their way out. Envision their mother coming home to find both her children dead. Think about Grandma and the unimaginable guilt she has to live with: No words of comfort she can possibly offer her daughter.

There was another pair — a brother and sister — who drowned a few years ago. Their father, a professional diver, took the kids to a friend’s pool while he puttered around with scuba gear in the friend’s garage. The kids were also accomplished divers, so when they asked their dad if they could scuba in the pool, he probably didn’t give it a second thought. But they took tanks of helium by mistake and died in the hospital four days later. Their mother tried to bring criminal charges against dad, lest he ever forget that his 7- and 9-year-old children are dead because of his carelessness.

Then there was the 3-year-old boy who drowned in an Airbnb pool, surrounded by doctors. A group of family friends had gone on a summer vacation together to the Gulf of Mexico. The families knew each other because all of the dads on the trip (6 of them) were physicians: They had completed their residencies together. They’d rented adjoining duplexes with a pool in the center and they had returned indoors after a day in the water. One of the moms gave her little boy a brownie and went to the kitchen to clean up after dinner. Then she stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the pool, saw her boy floating in the water, and screamed. One of the dads vaulted over the balcony into the pool. The men did what they could to save him — they even had an intubation kit on hand. He died.

They say drowning is preventable, but when you hear some of these stories, you sometimes have to ask: How?

How many times have I written about the kid who goes through the doggie door; the grandma with dementia who leaves the back door open; the family who is having a big BBQ pool party, and no one notices that a child is missing?

Or how about the apartment complex pool that has a gate latch that’s been broken for months; or the mom who is taking a nap while the kid wanders out; or the kid who jumps the fence to the pool and doesn’t know how to swim?

And there are numerous stories about autistic kids who somehow end up in the neighbor’s pool.

When I sit down to work and begin looking for these stories, I never doubt that I will find one. The only question is, how many drowned children will I find?

My birthday is in January, and I always hope that no one has drowned on it. And that’s possible, because January is generally light for pool drownings. One of my sisters has a birthday in April. She didn’t get lucky this year. Another sister has a birthday in August, so she’s never lucky.

It’s May now, so the numbers are starting to rise. The peak will occur in July — the fourth is usually the worst. By September, the numbers will come down again. No matter the month, it is always possible for me to find a drowned child, even in the dead of winter.

But I promise you that each one is much more than a “number” for the parents.

Do you think this happens only to careless, negligent people?

Because it happened to a family of proficient swimmers. It happened when a mother entrusted her sons with their grandmother. It happened to a group of doctors.

Even if you are nearby and think you are watching, it can happen when you look at your phone, run inside to make lunch, or answer the front door. It can happen.

Writing out their stories, week after week, I have discovered they all have one thing in common. At the moment they drew their last breath, no one was watching.