It’s a horrible thing to contemplate, but I have to admit that I was morbidly curious about how she did it. I mean, I’m sure that by the age of five I would’ve known what it means to be “dead.” (I’ve got memories of nightmares as evidence.) Did she start with the young ones, or the old ones? And she did it one at a time? If Mom kept bringing my lifeless, wet siblings out of the bathroom wrapped in sheets, I’d be pretty damn freaked out. As it turns out, I was pretty much right. She evidently had to chase the eldest boy around the house. This is just so sad.

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