I've been a search and rescue diver for 12 years. Last week was my last dive.

We’re trained for a multitude of scenarios. Even if we can’t save a person, we make sure to recover their bodies for the families. It’s a grim reward, but it’s a crucial step in the healing process. We see the worst of humanity’s consequences; we know what it’s like to lose a friend and not be able to say goodbye.<br><br>But when all the training in the world can’t prepare you for something, you need to make the decision whether you prepare or ship out. I’ll be shipping out.<br><br>I’m based in North Carolina. I’d been on over 100 dives. Most of the time it was a retrieval. Nothing particularly nasty, just your run of the mill drownings or heart attacks. But the one I’m about to talk about wasn’t like that. It was abnormal from the very beginning.<br><br>I was called up at 4AM and told there was a rescue in the ocean."Looks like a couple of folks fell into the drink when their boat capsized," our dispatcher told me. He was wrong, of course, but no one could blame him for believing that. I sounded my alarm and headed out to the hanger we kept our equipment in.<br><br>The"drink" was the Outer Banks. That area is particularly bad for ships. It's where Blackbeard ran his ship aground so the British Navy couldn't find him. It's where he was killed. The place has a bad reputation. Even aside from the history, the waters off the banks are filled with sandbars. It's easy to get your boat wrecked there, and a lot of times it's hard to see the sandbar until it's too late.<br><br>When I got to the hanger, my crew was already loading up the equipment into the chopper. The hanger was at the airport. We keep our chopper there. The other divers were already there, and we sounded off as we always did. Captain James, diver Tom, diver/set diver Ross, Captain Alicia, diver/set diver attractive blonde college student Chelsea (who I'll call Carly for obvious reasons), and I were crunching numbers. We were going to have to set up a rescue harness, too.<br><br>Our dispatcher had given us the full report. Four folks were on board. The boat had a name, and that night, it was *Babygirl*. A father and mother had taken their two children out to sea. The conditions" weren't really all that great: 40 mile an hour winds, waves reaching six feet. They had called for help, and a Coast Guard vessel had been dispatched. When they arrived, they could see the family struggling to keep their heads above water. Then the boat exploded and the Coast Guard couldn't see anyone after the blast spattered water everywhere. They began searching the area and asked for a dive team to be sent to help look.<br><br>We loaded into the chopper and took off into the night. We were a little worried. It was still dark, and the weather was terrible. The wind rocked us around, and we had to be careful not to let the valise (the rescue equipment bag holding extra air and the rescue harness) go into the drink.<br><br>We arrived pretty quickly, and the Coast Guard was shining their searchlight into the water. We identified our jump point and set up the harness. I was the set diver, so I would jump in and set up the weighted halters that kept the valise in one place. I would then let them know where to drop it so they could guide it on the right path. We took a deep breath as a crew and jumped into the water.<br><br>The ocean was freezing. I once read that Hypothermia can more easily take hold in water that's 50 degrees Fahrenheit or cooler. The water was 46 degrees that night. We had whole body exposure suits to help retain heat, but that water still felt like it was piercing me when I first got in.Apparently, the Coast Guard had found the family quickly, because the searchlight was already pointing in our direction. I was a couple of feet away from it, but I still had trouble seeing because of the spray the wind caused.<br><br>My directions were on point, and the recovery unit landed a few feet away from me. It was an oversized bag that floated up to the surface from my weighted halters, attached to a line that connected to a harness. We'd use it to drive air down to the divers and harness the missing people. I grabbed the line and gave the thumbs up to the crew. They waved back, and I saw them shoo Carly out of the way. I fell back, submerging myself in the water and reeling in the recovery unit.<br><br>The water was frigid, but I was a professional and knew the routine well. Hypothermia takes a few hours in cold water to settle in. I knew it wouldn't be a problem as long as the dive was standard. We were in good shape and well trained. Even the water couldn't deter us, and I made my way down 30 feet to the sea floor to set up the recovery unit.<br><br>\-----------<br><br>As expected, the water was darker than space. The night, combined with the depth, meant I had to use my light to see anything. I shined it in all directions to make sure I was alone, and my beam landed on the wrecked hull of the *Babygirl*. The bow of the ship had been blown clean off. I saw a piece of the hull floating next to it, and figured that's what must have hit the ocean's surface.<br><br>I landed on the sea floor and set up the recovery unit. It wasn't too hard to get the weighted halters set up, and I'd had plenty of experience doing so in the dark. I turned it on, and the orange oxygen canisters began whistling almost immediately. I'd motioned for them to drop the line, and I began reeling it in. I had gone almost 30 feet and was starting to get a little confused. I figured they must have set a new" record for a short length of line.<br><br>Soon, I'd gone another ten feet without hitting the valise. I figured I must have messed up somewhere along the line. I'd never failed an equipment check before, and that thought really bothered me. I was about to give them the 'stop' signal when my beam landed on something.<br><br>At first, I couldn't make it out. It was some kind of sack, but it was too small to be the valise. Then it hit me, and I figured out what they had meant by "identification of the bodies possible". It was a body bag.<br><br>I signaled to stop the line and approached the bag. But something felt off."Body bags" are whole body exposure suits that prevent hypothermia and help the diver breathe. The crew calls them body bags. I didn't see the line attached to the body bag, but that was strange; usually we'd have to walk it down to the set diver. But here I was, walking" up" to one. I had been set divers plenty of times, and I had to have the line guide me to the point where I'd set up the recovery unit. I figured the crew must have messed up the line. They had thrown it too hard, and it had overshot.<br><br>I walked up to the bag and shined my light on the window of the helmet. I froze up immediately.<br><br>The diver was grinning. Not frowning, not screaming, grinning. Her helmet exploded outward as soon as my beam landed on her. It was Carly. She had been with us for about a year. She was a rookie, but she was one of the best we'd ever seen, and we'd welcomed her as part of the crew. But that didn't stop her from doing what she did.<br><br>I shook my head, trying to clear it, and tried to see if she was alright. She had already sunk beneath the sand, but I didn't care. I signaled the crew to stop the line and dove down to try and see what had happened to my crew member.<br><br>I" dove" in the sense I jumped in the direction of where she'd fallen, but I didn't actually dive. I couldn't dive. The water was too deep, and we had to use set divers to guide the line to the halters because we needed to walk to the sea floor. She was already gone, and I knew that. But something wouldn't let me focus on the line.<br><br>I jumped in the general direction she'd gone in, shining my light around me, and landed on her torso. It had already split open from the pressure. I felt sick and was about to go back when I noticed something. She didn't have any air tanks. I knew that was impossible, because we'd keep the tanks in the hanger. Had we forgotten them? Why didn't she tell us?<br><br>I knew it was impossible. We wouldn't have forgotten. I figured they must have exploded when her helmet blew. I couldn't really see because of the size of the beam on my light, so I looked above me to make sure the crew hadn't dropped the valise yet. I looked back, and Carly's entire torso had split open. The beam landed on her face, and I froze again.<br><br>She was still grinning. When I had first seen her, I figured the water pressure had split her face into a grimace (I had seen this before, unfortunately) But she had been torn in half at her stomach ending, not her head. Still, she was smiling. I tried to look closer, but stopped myself when the beam landed on her eyes.<br><br>Something was wrong with them. They were wide and distended, and they seemed to be looking right at me. I shook my head. It was the light playing tricks on me. I had to focus