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This day in paradise begins a little differently than most. Today we are setting out on a much anticipated snorkeling trip, my brother and I, our (now ex) partners, my brother’s best friend, his best friend’s dad, brother-in-law and nephew. The water and skies are as crystal clear as I’ve ever seen them as we reach our first stop. We swim into an island tunnel, a long, watery cave with a pirates’ oasis hidden in the centre.

We leave the cave island and head to our next destination, about an hour away. Suddenly, the boat stops. The driver and his mates point to the water – over 50 dolphins are circling the boat. They jump and spin in the air, splashing us. It’s magical and fantastic and we snap picture after picture, toasting with cold beers to the “BEST DAY EVER!”

The next island is my favourite snorkeling spot in the world. But on this day, the water is unexpectedly cloudy, not clear. The tides are rough, not peaceful. Standing on the shore’s edge, water is at your ankles one minute, the next, your neck. We leave, disappointed.

We jump in the ocean a couple of times on our way back inland but the water is too rough. “Strangest tides I’ve ever seen” says the friend’s brother-in-law, a scuba instructor.

We head back home in the glorious afternoon sunshine, still reveling in a near perfect day.

As we approach the shore of our island, we notice things in the water. Strange things, like a cooler. A lawn chair. A whole palm tree. What the hell? A baby bottle. Oh god.

There is no one on the miles of beach. No one. Not a soul. What happened here? What is happening here?

The boat is silent.

We come upon our beach and see crushed bungalows. The once white beach is now black – wet with dark sand; covered in debris. The entire place is deserted, except for one man who owns the beach bar next door.

We run to him “What happened Rocky? What happened? Where IS everyone?”

“Gone”, he says. “All gone. Earthquakes, all over the world. Everything. Gone. Everything. Everywhere”.

My heart stops and a shiver runs through my entire being. I look at my brother; we cry and hold each other close.

I count my blessings that I didn’t see worse that day and pray (in my own way) for those who didn’t make it through, who weren’t as lucky as we were.

It turns out Rocky was wrong. It wasn’t everywhere and everything, but in his world, it was. It was December 26, 2004 on a small island in Southern Thailand.

I’d like to thank the always kick-ass Linda at All & Sundry for giving me permission to snag the comment I left on her site about a year ago that formed the basis for this post.