This post contains sensitive content. I’ve considered extensively what to share, what not to share and in what way I should share it. The short amount of time we spent on the island of Koh Tao has impacted the lives of many people and my only hope is that I recount what happened in a way that respects those involved while still being true to the commitment I’ve made to share our trip experiences with you.

Scuba diving is totally out of my comfort zone. I’ve had anxiety about water for most of my life, but slowly I’ve been working to overcome it. My first big challenge came out of a pact I made at a bar one night last year to complete a triathlon (shout out to Amanda for being my training partner). So when we decided to make scuba diving a major part of our trip to Southeast Asia, I knew that this would be uncomfortable for me, but it would only move me closer to conquering my fear.

We signed up to complete dive certification in Thailand at a well-rated dive shop on the island of Koh Tao. Our plan was to obtain certification and spend the next few months traveling from dive town to dive town to explore the beautiful world found under the sea. This part of our trip was not meant to be.

Shockingly, during our third day of dive training, we witnessed a terrible tragedy that claimed the life of a vibrant, adventurous person who we were fortunate enough to call a friend.

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Koh Tao is one of the most popular diving destinations in SE Asia, if not the world. The water is warm, clear and mellow, so it’s ideal for beginners. There are more than 60 dive shops on the island. Diving is practically the identity of this place.

Our Open Water Certification Course is four days long. It consists of one day of classroom work, one day of pool diving and five dives in open water over the course of two days.

In our training class there are four people and two instructors. Lorenz and Kaspar, the other students besides Stephen and me, are step brothers from Austria. They’re both in their late 20s and are in Thailand on holiday.

After our first day of classroom work, the four of us spend the second day in the pool learning skills. We grab lunch at a restaurant across the street from the dive shop. When we return to the pool, we continue with skills and demonstrate our swimming endurance abilities. Everyone completes this training with flying colors and even though we’re beat, we head back to the dive shop to hang out and celebrate our first big milestone toward scuba dive certification.

We bond quickly with both Kaspar and Lorenz. Lorenz tells us his plans to leave his job in January so he can travel full time for about a year, starting in South America. They’re staying in a bungalow that is only a few kilometers away from the shop but it’s on the other side of a steep hill.

We gawk at photos of the beautiful view from their bungalow and whine about our ant-filled, non-aircon bungalow which was included with our dive package. They remind us that the previous night’s rain had turned the road to their place into a river, leaving them to walk up and down the hills all the way to the dive shop that morning because their scheduled taxi was a motorbike and couldn’t traverse the terrain.

They also tell us about the other “guests” who are staying in their bungalow, including several geckoes and a giant bathroom spider. We end the evening feeling tired but excited and we are all looking forward to our first open water dive experience.

The next morning, we take our final written certification test. Once our paperwork is completed, we grab some toasties from 7-Eleven and walk back to the shop to prepare gear for our afternoon of open water skills tests.

In addition to our class, there were five or six other groups of divers headed out with us on the boat that day. They ranged from other beginners like us to experienced students participating in courses like rescue diving or advanced open water certification.

As the boat sets up anchor over the dive site where we’ll be training that day, Lorenz and Kaspar point to the shore.

“Look, that’s our bungalow,” Lorenz tells me. “How crazy, I had no idea we were so close to a dive site.”

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We completed our first dive and had about 45 minutes to rest and talk with our instructors about how we were feeling and any questions or concerns we were having.

When it was time to start our second dive, we reassembled our gear, completed our safety checks, and took turns getting into the water. We gathered together on the surface to demonstrate our next set of skills and complete our second dive.

Lorenz volunteered to start the skills demonstration, and he was joined by both of the instructors as he began. The rest of us waited at the surface with our masks in the water, watching Lorenz and waiting for our turn. I was set to go next, and my stomach was in knots as this particular skill was the most challenging for me mentally. Though the visibility was poorer than usual that day, I locked my eyes on Lorenz in anticipation as he and our instructors steadily ascended to the surface.

What happened next has replayed in my head a thousand times in the months since the accident. Out of respect for Lorenz, I won’t go into the details of those critical moments, but what I will share is that while he was under water something happened that caused a severe injury to his lung.

The dive staff who were still on the boat jump into action, and those of us that are on the surface of the water are urgently helped back onto the boat. Lorenz is unconscious but is given medical attention while the boat rushes to the pier, where an ambulance is waiting to take him to the local hospital.

Stephen and I, our instructors, and the rest of the divers that were on the boat are left on the shore in complete shock. No one can give us a confident update, but we are told that Lorenz was breathing on his own at the time he was put into the ambulance and was quickly taken by speedboat to the nearby island of Koh Samui where they were better equipped to treat his injuries.

We spend the rest of that night and the next day in a daze, trying to process what we’d witnessed. I go through the moments over and over in my head, wondering how, what, and why. Of course it was a freak accident, but even still, I couldn’t even think about continuing and completing our training, and we decide not to finish the remaining dives needed for our certification. We leave Koh Tao and head to Koh Samui as planned.

On the ferry, I message Kaspar to ask what he needs, hoping that maybe we can bring food to the hospital or sit with Lorenz to give Kaspar a bit of a break. His response completely shocks me. He tells me that they are no longer in Koh Samui. The day before, Lorenz’s lung became infected and he had lost brain function. They were flown to Bangkok.

The prognosis was grim, Kaspar told me, and it was unlikely that Lorenz was going to survive.

As I read his response, I felt my entire body go numb. I reread his words over and over, but they didn’t seem to process. How could it be possible that the night before his accident, we were laughing incredulously as Lorenz told us about the Austrian Christmas tradition of Krampus. We were sharing travel tips and hacks and hopes. How can this be real?

I tell Kaspar we’ll be in Bangkok in a few days. I say we’ll message him when we get there and I’ll be praying hard for things to turn around for Lorenz.

We see Kaspar again in Bangkok, where we also met Lorenz’s dad, stepmother and his friends who had flown to Thailand from Austria to be with him. Though we’d only known Lorenz for a few days, the commonalities we bonded over created a connection that was quick and close, and we shared in their tears and mourning.

They were still holding out hope, his family told us, but once the doctors gave the OK they would fly him home to Vienna so his grandparents could say goodbye. They were also planning to carry out Lorenz’s wish to donate his organs.

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At the time of writing this, I’m sitting in an apartment in Santiago, Chile. I can’t help but think that if life was fair, Lorenz would be backpacking in South America right now, too. No doubt we’d have made plans to meet up, and maybe even dive together.

When we last spoke, Kaspar told me that the first place Lorenz was excited to visit on his around-the-world trip was Machu Picchu. For many, this ancient city is the exemplification of the power of man.

We plan to make our way to Peru as well. When I see this ancient city, I know it will represent something entirely different. I’ll think of the fragility of life. I’ll give thanks for the health and safety of myself and of those I love. Most of all, I’ll think of Lorenz and his family, who I hope will take comfort knowing that through me, and others he has touched, a part of Lorenz will always be traveling.