Dead Friends

Ron. Mark. Horst. Carl. Tim. Wes. Agnes. Xavier. These are my newest dead friends.

My wife, Jill, worked with, trained, or was a colleague to them. She is not a cop, fire fighter, or soldier. She is a cave diver. So were they.

Recently, I produced a documentary about a scuba diver who went missing in a Florida cave. I narrated the film, and said “Cave diving is sometimes referred to as the world’s most dangerous sport.” This simple statement created a shit storm of controversy among the cave diving community, and I was challenged and vilified on the Internet diving forums for making such a bold claim.

I have been a soldier, a sailor, and a prison medic. In all the years in these traditionally dangerous roles, I never lost eight friends or colleagues. In the past six years married to Jill, I came to know every one of the people listed above, and grieved their untimely deaths. Every one of these remarkable people were, in some way making the world a better place. I am becoming hard-hearted towards Jill’s newest dive buddies, students and associates. I don’t want to tightly hold Jill, as together we cry at your passing. I love you all too much to like you.