The First To Go

I want to apologize for the lack of activity around here on Tuesday—I was reached by news of the sudden death of Marina Finch, an old college buddy from Dartmouth, and I was just plain feeling sad all day. Memories kept coming back to me all day long. And I was beset with regret—I always assumed I would see Marina again someday, and I just took that for granted for far too long.

Marina Finch scalloping out of her little Grady White boat, c. 2008.
Photo by Martie Mack.

Marina lived a very interesting life. She was an EMT and a scalloper out of Sconset, a village at the eastern end of Nantucket island. Out of college, she spent winters in Colorado, waiting tables at night and skiing in the daytime; summers, she'd do the same on Nantucket, spending the days at the beach. This went on for so long that her friends worried she'd never settle down. Finally, in an effort to get serious with her life, she joined the Peace Corps—which promptly dispatched her to an outrageously beautiful island in the South Pacific, where she was given the best apartment on the island in return for teaching English to bright-eyed island children. "I can't win," she wrote. Can't lose, was more like it.

She married a guy who was a pilot for an island-hopping airline, I heard, and that's when I lost touch with her. I didn't even know she was back on Nantucket, and obviously she'd been there for a long time.

Marina was one of those people who have such strong, outsized personalities that, once you know them, you can never forget them. She had great spirit, strong, almost volatile passions when I knew her, a keen intelligence, and always, always a deep and abiding sense of humor. She left friends literally all over the world—tributes poured in from Scotland, New Zealand, the mountains, the seashores, both coasts. I wouldn't have guessed I had ten memories of the times we spent together—I don't remember much from those days, an unfortunate side effect of pre-recovery addictions—but as the day wore on I rediscovered ten times that many, back in the recesses of my mind. Put the Grateful Dead on and raised a glass of club soda.

That's the bitch about middle age. Pretty much everybody makes it through their first fifty years; pretty much nobody makes it through the second fifty. It's only a question of when. The first to go are never easy for those who stay. My thoughts go out to her family.

Mike

Comments

[Ezequiel Mesquita]

A fascinating character, no doubt.Very moving and sharp thoughts about aging, Mike. May she rest in peace.

[Steven Willard]

Life goes on, and then it's gone. I'm really for your loss and pain.

[Steve Jacob]

Hi Mike, I fully empathise. I am approaching 52 and have had to deal with lost friends and current friends undergoing treatment for cancer, MS and other issues.

We should not dwell on "what if". Enjoy every day. Only a handful of generations ago, 50 was regarded as a decent age. We now feel cheated if we get ill at 70. Life is a gift we shouldn't measure by length, only by quality.

Sounds like your friend had a life of exceptional quality.

My condolences

[James Maher]

So sorry for you loss Mike. It sounds like she lived the adventurous life!

[Jim]

A retired physician friend of mine observes a lot of things they did not teach hi in medical school!

[Bryce Lee]

And it is often friends such as Marina who go first. Such friends are rare. Family dying is a little bit different, however no less devastating to those who remain.

My condolences, Mike and to Marina's wide flung family

[Batia Zumwalt]

Hi Mike,
I also am deeply saddened by Marina's passing. She was a good friend to me and to my family for over 30 years on Nantucket.
I posted your beautiful memories on Marina's facebook page, I hope that's ok.
With love, Batia Zumwalt

[Frank]

Pretty much everybody makes it through their first fifty years; pretty much nobody makes it through the second fifty. It's only a question of when. The first to go are never easy for those who stay. - Mike
Dear Mike,

You again hit the soft spot in my heart. As a near-fifty guy, I have already lost my friend someday ago. Old classmate.

Besides your interesting and thought-provoking essays and comments on almost every aspect of photography, this kind of post is definitely a strong magnetic to make me stay as a long-time reader on your blog! Thank you!

And condolences to you and to Marina's family.

[robert blu, quiet photographer]

dear Mike, I feel sorry for your loss. It seems me she was a "special" person .But if you never forget her she will be "alive", at least in your heart. Ciao Marina, from my side as well.
robert

[Tom Bell]

Dear Mike
Lovely picture. There she is in all her glory. The second fifty is an interesting time. Full of sadness, but great memories. I work as a family doctor on Dartmoor England and in my late fifties am finding that it's not only patients but friends who are now succumbing.

Eight of us from college meet every year walking in the Lake District and I now treasure every moment. One year one of us may not be there .. and it could be me!!

There are no friends like old friends

Best wishes Mike

Tom

[Shelley-Jo Talvacchia]

I am so sorry to hear this. Marina took me on as a culler one season. Some of the nicest days spent on the harbor. So sad.