Down by the river

 

One of my earliest memories of childhood is of standing with my mother near the river, watching the men from the hospital drag the river for the body of a little girl, five years old just like me.  I was curious to see what a dead person would look like and worried that we were not close enough for a good view.  Eventually, my mother turned to me and told me to go home and change my shoes as I had mud all over them.  I was reluctant to leave, but I would never have argued with my mother.  So I raced home for clean shoes and by the time I got back, the excitement was over.  I guess that she just wanted to protect me from the harsh realities of death, but I always felt cheated.