Nightdive Into Photos

A lot of people like to go through photographs of their loved ones when they die — to see the faces of those they lost, remember an expression or an event. I was certainly no different when my big brother, David — a doctor and athlete — died in 2008. I was possibly (probably) more even more engrossed (read: obsessed) finding and viewing them than most. I can only chock that up to the fact this his death was was sudden and horrible and felt impossible to believe, and that I’m his kid sister and he was my hero. I didn’t know what else to do to feel close to him — until I dug into writing about him, at least.

Pictures have kept me company since he’s been gone. The pictures prove he existed — tangible evidence that he was here. It has always been reassuring to see even a flat version of him, nearly always smiling, almost always seeming to have a great time, to be looking so alive.

I pored over all the prints and digital files I had of us as kids and young adults, stared at all of the social media posts his friends share of them having fun together, thumbed through the dozens (hundreds?) of neatly organized paper envelopes my mom has organized chronologically. Over the years, I’ve asked the photographer who had documented him competing with his adventure racing team to send me his stuff. I searched online for strangers’ shots. I looked longingly at his work portrait alongside other radiologists. Former colleagues of his sent me cards with a shot or two of him in scrubs tucked inside.

This went on for many and on. It meant more than I can describe to have all of these images of my big brother to hold onto when I couldn’t hold onto him.

I made an album with a collection of my favorites, printed loads to have on my desk at work and on my bedside table, and later convinced my publisher to use one on the cover of my book by saying in my marketing-ese, “Faces are good for engagement, you know, and my brother was a looker.” That picture happened to be a selfie I found on his laptop after he was gone, maybe (likely?) one of the last he ever took. An eerie, wonderful parting gift, now memorialized on the printed-and-bound story about him. When a shot of us together was printed with my opinion piece about sibling loss in The Boston Globe, I was over the moon knowing how many readers got to see him.

Like I said, I’ve perhaps been just a teeny bit obsessed.

But one of the things that has added to the sting of loss is that — despite having had parents who took a lot of pictures of him growing up, and friends, girlfriends, and teammates who took a lot of pictures of him at weddings and vacations and races after that — at some point, I still ran out of pictures. After almost 18 years (18 years!), I really thought I must have seen them all.

A few months ago, when I was visiting our mom and started nosing around at night (as I do), poking through books and stuff in the guest bedroom, I found a packet of pictures from a trip he took to Belize in the late 80s with a woman named Sue. It was a revelation, not only because in this set of photos he is exactly the guy we all knew and loved — enjoying being outside in an incredibly beautiful setting doing something adventurous (scuba diving!) — but because if I ever saw them before, it was way back then, when he would have been in his late 20s and I was in high school. Utterly forgotten, until now.

The best part is that he clearly deliberately prepared the whole set to give to me and Mom because he wrote in his meticulous print on the back of every image describing what was happening in the shot. He had gotten an underwater camera (I remembered!) and was so excited about using it. Many of the pictures are otherworldly blueish or murky views into the depths, peering at sea creatures (This is a French angelfish and a school of tiny fairy basslets, he wrote), but lots are above board of him and, well, other sea creatures: My speargun and the lunch it provided, a grouper which weighted about 10 to 15 lbs.

I remembered how much he loved being able to identify things — from his college botany classes labeling plants to med school discussing body parts. I remembered how much he loved every new device designed to enhance exploration, and how much he loved to hunt. So, of course he delighted in knowing all of these fun fish names, of course he loved a freaking speargun.

I flipped through the dozens of photos feeling like he was just telling me another story about an amazing trip, just like he had done over and over again throughout his life. Spiny lobster and the coral cave he lives in was the description for a many armed brownish crustacean against a backdrop of pink and white. Sue shows off her beautiful starfish he wrote on another. A smiling lovely blonde woman crouches on the deck of a boat, blue ripply water behind her, holding two large orange starfish. Who was Sue? I couldn’t remember.

And still funny. My favorite is David holding a teeny fish up to the camera, fishing pole in the other hand, with the descriptor, This monster nearly broke my line (would have been hilarious on a dating app — not that he would have ever needed to be on one!).

Just when I thought I’d seen it all, and was sad all over again about never being able to take more pictures, I received so many fresh shots, so many great little blurbs about a completely on-brand excursion. What a sweet surprise to get to hang with my brother one more time. Just look at that monster.