The tide spilled; not a storm, but a release. And Ruth knew just how to scoot over closer and how to put her arm around my shoulders. Just how, after a moment of letting tears streak down the dirt on my face, to gently lift both my feet and set them into our hole, next to her own feet, and then push sand over them again and again until I managed to sniff myself together and start shoving sand in too. Until both our feet and legs were buried calf-deep. Until I started laughing, laughing from that fresh, deep part of me, until Ruth caught it too and we laid our heads back in the sand and looked up at the hole to the sky and laughed wildly until even the seagulls were outdone.

We can’t control the waves and the tides.

But we can swim in them.

I am breathing underwater. It’s been over a week since the night at the hospital. We are floating around coral and sunken ships with thick goggles and flippers, and oxygen tanks on our backs. It always surprises me how light the burden of those tanks is when you’re submerged.

My camera is doing well in its special case. Ruth and I swim around the stern side of the ship. The professional divers, our guides, keep an eye on things from above us. Mom, Dad, Ellie, and Eddie are all around here somewhere too, looking at fish and sea turtles. Eddie’s biggest goal is to see an octopus.

The water is tinted a misty green. There’s rough, scaly coral plastered over almost every surface, and little tubes and ropy things and pricklys sticking up out of the sand. There are pops of yellow and purple through the green water, and starfish clinging to the sides of the ships. Peering in through rusted-out holes and broken beams makes me feel like a true Treasure Hunter, a true explorer. We swim in and out of the remains of the ships like squeezing in and out of rib cages. Bits of seaweed hula all around us like they’re listening to a song.

With just the pictures I’ve got in front of me right this moment, I’ve got more than enough for a lifetime. More than enough to keep going.

I snap picture after picture of Ruth running her hands along the hull, swimming down face-to-face with the coral.

Ruth takes a turn with the camera too. A clown fish darts like a bullet from his anemone, right in front of my goggles, and scares me so bad I nearly lose my oxygen. I’m pretty sure Ruth caught the moment on camera because even through her goggles and breathing mask I think, right now, she’s laughing.

Another picture for the “Sisters” folder. There’s a lot to add.