We had been anticipating this day all year. Team T-shirts had been made, dives had been scouted, and our snares were all ready to go. It was a beautiful day. It was the two days out of the year that lobster hunters anticipate most. It was Mini Season- 2013. Mini season is two days at the end of July when anyone and everyone with a license is allowed to hunt for lobsters during the off-season. Of course the full season resumes a few weeks later, but it has been months since anyone has caught a lobster and we’re all dying to go. Mini season is very competitive. Divers are lost, people are injured, some people even lose their lives. There’s a big hype over mini season, and I would say for good reason. It’s a lot of fun and I haven’t missed one for the past five. I won’t miss it this year either, but I doubt things will ever be the same after last year’s trip.

This passed mini season the conditions were probably the best they had ever been during these two days. It was like the lobster gods were shining down on us. There was hardly any current (which is highly unusual for that time of year), the seas were smooth, and it was looking to be a clear and sunny day in West Palm Beach. We woke up before the sun came out so we could be the first boat on the water. Everyone was geared up and ready to go! So we set out for a full day of diving and lobster catching.

I can’t completely remember how many dives we did that day. I think we were doing a three-tank trip. I figure this because I didn’t do the last dive. I must have been too tired. There’s no other reason I wouldn’t have gone. And I would not have only done one dive and quit. Not during mini season. No one wants to miss a single dive, no matter what condition they’re in. Which can often lead to complications.

I woke up from my nap on the engine hatch to see divers climbing up the latter and emerging from the water. I scurried back to the cooler to see how many lobsters my dad had bagged and sat there patiently waiting for the rest of the divers. I loved to see what everyone hauled in from the deep blue. It’s a world so deep and full of mystery. The ocean is a beautiful and mystical place, but it is definitely one to be respected. The divers all surfaced and everyone was laughing, joking, and enjoying the day. As expected, our boat had the most lobsters.

On this last dive the deckhand, named Mike, had gotten in the water for a little lobstering fun. Mike was quite possibly the sweetest, kindest, most polite, and hardworking person I’ve ever met. He was extremely intelligent and always very responsible. Mike did everything he was told. I’ve never met such a devoted person in my life, and it’s hard to say if I ever will again. He was an amazing young man. While he may have been a little shy (which was partially due to his Asperger’s), he had really come out of his shell through working on the boat. I would always joke around with him and tease him, just getting him to open up a little bit more. And he had no problem dishing back what I gave out. He was eighteen years old and attending a prestigious maritime academy. The world was his oyster, no ocean pun intended.

Like I said, Mike was very, very responsible. He knew his limits and safety always came first. On this day he came up from the water just like everyone else. He was laughing and talking about the dive with everyone and had just put his honorary “Team Jackson” shirt back on. The day was coming to a perfect end. Then everything changed. It is a moment I will not forget for as long as I live. Ever. I look to the back of the boat and see Mike’s face looking especially green. I thought it was odd that he would be seasick. He spends many days on the boat and is attending a maritime academy. Not to mention he’s been working on the boat for years. But everyone gets seasick now and again. I heard someone holler for a water bottle, so I immediately shot up from my spot on the cooler and tossed a bottle to the stern. I was starting to worry just a bit. People seemed a little more frantic and concerned. I heard Captain Sandy ask Mike if he was all right. Then the last words I would ever hear Mike say, “I don’t feel so good Sandy.” In the next second his face was as white as snow. The colored was left his body like it had been flushed down the drain. As he passed out everyone rushed to lower him to the ground. Mike was a large kid and no one wanted him to hit his head. His tongue was pure white; completely and entirely like a blank sheet of paper. The image will be in my mind forever. Now I knew something was terribly wrong.

Sandy shot on the radio calling for help. Calling for the coast guard over and over. Mike was unconscious lying on the deck of the boat, not moving. Luckily he was still breaking and we all continued to hope for the best. Trying to wake him up. But alas, his breathing stopped. My dad and another diver, who I believe is a paramedic, started CPR on Mike while other passengers tried to get the oxygen tank hooked up. I’m not sure what the problem was but the O2 bottle would not hook up properly and was not flowing. It was awful. No matter how much I willed things to work perfectly they just would not. There was nothing I could do. Nothing most of us could do. The coast guard guided us in as my dad and the other diver continued to pump away at his chest. I looked over at Sandy. A woman who is incredibly tough, strong, and brave. I cannot even describe how incredible she is, and I can’t even scratch the surface at how tough she is. If this were Sponge Bob, she would own the Salty Spittoon, and that’s saying something. But when I looked up at her I saw a type of fear and sadness I’ve never seen before. It was heartbreaking. I didn’t even know what to do. So I sat there watching the horrific scene unraveling before me. There was nothing I could do.

As we sped into the marina the Coast Guard and paramedics instantly boarded the boat. I jumped off the vessel through the window and walked up to the Tiki Bar. Mike had not been breathing for at least five minutes. The EMTs and paramedics rushed him off to the hospital while we all stood around. Stunned. Worried. Scared. Defeated. Mike meant so much to all of us. He was like a son to Vicki and Sandy. People would often ask if he was their son. Sandy would always reply, “No, but I wish he was. He’s a great kid.” He was family.

People took witness statements from everyone. I didn’t even know what to say. Everything had seemed so normal. Everything had changed so fast. I wrote my statement and gave it back. Then I looked back at Sandy. She had tears in her eyes. I had never seen her cry. This was a woman who appeared to be a rock at most times. And she was crying. I didn’t even know how to respond. It was like she was losing her child. I wanted to give her a big hug, but my feet were glued to the ground. It was like my body had turned to stone. I just stood, frozen. Luckily someone else came up and hugged her. She obviously needed it. I regret everyday that I didn’t hug her. Why didn’t I just pick up my feet and wrap my arms around her? She was hurting and I just stood there, like a dumb idiot. After my initial shock of her tears I walked over and rubbed her arm and said it would all be okay. But really, I had no way of knowing that or not. I felt so dumb. And I knew my words didn’t console her at all. She just stared ahead, tears swelling in her eyes.

Things got wrapped up after an hour maybe two. It could have been longer. It could have been shorter. I really don’t remember the time it took. Time hardly seemed like a factor. It wasn’t even something I was thinking about. I was only thinking about Mike.

He coded several times that night and the next day. But they were able to stabilize him and move him to a different hospital. He was brain dead. He had machines feeding him and breathing for him. He was essentially completely unresponsive. We left Florida a few days later. Mike died exactly a week after the incident. Something I still have a hard time believing. Something that still makes me tear up and my chest get tight when I think about. A lot of difficult things happened this summer, including divorce, a car accident, and the probability that we will be leaving my childhood home. But Mike hit me hard. I didn’t cry right away. I don’t think at the time it really hit me; he’s gone. I will never laugh with him again. I will never joke with him again. I will never request another “Mike’s Special” when asking him to clean my mask, just before jumping in the water. I’ll never see his big smile greeting us all on the boat.

It kills me to think a life was lost so young. It kills me to think about his parents who lost their beloved son. Someone who was so bright and had a brilliant future ahead of him. I just can’t put into words how amazing Mike was. It is a tragedy that he is gone. I will always remember and miss Mike. Friends and family are planning to spread his ashes over his favorite dive site, this way he can always spend his days doing what he loved. He can explore the beautiful blue waters all day and never have to worry about anything. And he can be in peace. I love you Mike, and you’ll always be with me.