In 2003, years after the Titanic film was released to the public, actor Bill Paxton opened up about how he went on a submersible ride to experience everything firsthand as well.
The interview was ahead of the documentary Ghosts of the Abyss release. The documentary showed director James Cameron discussing his inspiration for the film and taking several people, which included Paxton, on unscripted dives to the Titanic’s site.

“Each dive, I had to kind of look myself in the mirror and go ‘OK, are you ready for this?’” Paxton said in the 2003 interview. “It’s one of those things where Jim [Cameron] asked me in passing to go and…the opportunity of a lifetime. I jumped at it,” the actor explained.
“But then you start thinking about physically what’s going to be required of you to get into a three-man, deep-sea Russian submersible for a 13-hour dive,” he shared. “To go down two and a half miles to a place where the sun has never penetrated. And you’re starting to think ‘OK, I’ve got young kids. I need to get them to an age where they can support themselves before I do something this crazy.’”
“Jim is an infectious guy. And also, God, who wouldn’t go on this adventure?”

He even went on to even talk about how comfortable the inside of the submersible he dived in was. He said it was “relatively comfortable,” before noting that “certainly there are things that can go wrong.”
“If they do go wrong, it’s not going to matter anyway. And it’s going to happen so quickly that you’re not even gonna know it happened, probably,” he noted. “These are the thoughts you have going in.”
He even explained how to him, “the price of admission” seemed “kind of low” given the “great experience” you got in return.
“You approach the bow, and then you rise up over it. And you’re looking down on the ship, and you are a ghost of the abyss. And the images stay with you. The images, they really have an effect,” he said before he talked about the “personal story” attached to the sunken ship.
Posted by R.I.P Bill Paxton on Sunday, June 13, 2021
“I think all of us at some time in our dreams or even our waking moments have pictured ourselves: What would it have been like to be on that deck? Knowing that the lifeboats had gone away. What were you gonna do? Contemplating your own fate. It’s this ultimate parable of, how would you measure up?” he questioned, calling the Titanic “a perfect tragedy.”
“You think about the people on the water. You think about the people on the boats looking back and seeing the stern of that ship come up out of the water like a city rising up out of the sea,” the actor said. “You think about the people in the water. I swam in the water out there, which was a very disconcerting experience because you think there’s that much ocean underneath you.”
It was clear that the actor knew of all the risks before going into the experience. As for the five men aboard the submersible that dominated headlines in the last week, the U.S. Coast Guard announced that they discovered “presumed human remains.”
MY 12-YEAR-OLD SON DEMANDED WE RETURN THE 2-YEAR-OLD GIRL WE ADOPTED — ONE MORNING, I WOKE UP AND HER CRIB WAS EMPTY

The morning sun streamed through the window, casting long, dancing shadows across the floor. I stretched, a contented sigh escaping my lips. Then, I froze.
Lily’s crib, nestled beside my bed, was empty.
Panic clawed at my throat. I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. “John!” I yelled, my voice hoarse.
John rushed into the room, his face pale. “What’s wrong? Where’s Lily?”
“She’s gone!” I cried, my voice cracking. “Her crib is empty!”
John’s eyes widened. “Oh God, you don’t think…”
The thought that had been lurking in the shadows of my mind, a fear I had desperately tried to ignore, now solidified into a chilling reality. My son, driven by anger and resentment, had taken Lily.
The ensuing hours were a blur of frantic phone calls to the police, frantic searches of the house, and a growing sense of dread. Every ticking second felt like an eternity. John, his face etched with guilt and fear, was inconsolable.
“I should have been firmer with him,” he kept repeating, “I should have never let him stay home alone.”
But I knew it wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I had allowed my son’s anger to fester, I had underestimated the depth of his resentment. Now, I was paying the price.
The police arrived, their faces grim as they surveyed the scene. They questioned us, searched the house, and offered little comfort. “We’ll find her,” the lead detective assured us, his voice firm, but his eyes held a grim uncertainty.
As the hours turned into days, the initial wave of panic gave way to a chilling despair. I imagined Lily, frightened and alone, wandering the streets, lost and vulnerable. I pictured her small face, her big brown eyes filled with tears, her tiny hand reaching out for comfort that no one could offer.
The search continued, but hope dwindled with each passing day. Volunteers scoured the neighborhood, posters with Lily’s picture plastered on every lamppost. The news channels picked up the story, her face plastered across television screens, a plea for information.
But there was no trace of her.
The guilt gnawed at me relentlessly. I replayed every interaction with my son, every harsh word, every dismissive glance. I had focused on the joy of adopting Lily, on the love I felt for this small, vulnerable child. But I had neglected my son, his feelings, his needs. I had failed him, and now, because of my neglect, Lily was missing.
One evening, while sitting on the porch, staring at the fading light, I heard a faint sound. A soft whimper, barely audible above the rustling leaves. I followed the sound, my heart pounding, my breath catching in my throat.
Hidden behind a large oak tree, I found them. My son, huddled beneath a blanket, was holding Lily close, his face buried in her hair. Lily, her eyes wide with fear, was clinging to him, her small hand clutching his shirt.
Relief washed over me, so intense it almost brought me to my knees. I rushed towards them, tears streaming down my face. “Lily!” I cried, scooping her up into my arms.
My son, his face pale and drawn, looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of shame and relief. “I… I couldn’t let her go,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “I know I was mean, but… but I love her too, Mom.”
As I held Lily close, her tiny body trembling against mine, I realized that the past few days had been a painful but ultimately necessary lesson. It had taught me the importance of communication, of empathy, of acknowledging the feelings of those I loved.
That night, as I rocked Lily to sleep, my son curled up beside me, his head resting on my shoulder. We had lost precious time, but we had also found something unexpected – a deeper, more profound connection. We had faced our fears, confronted our mistakes, and emerged stronger, more united than ever before.
The road to healing would be long, but we would face it together, as a family. And in the quiet moments, I would cherish the sound of Lily’s laughter, a sweet melody that filled our home with a joy I had almost lost forever.
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