Two days after our visit to the Grand canyon we were in a diner having breakfast and my dad was reading the paper. And I saw a picture of the boy that had knocked me over in the visitor center at the Grand canyon. I pointed to the picture and asked Mom to read me what the paper was saying about him and the other people in the photograph. She scanned it. Then sadly said that he made it to the helicopter tour with his parents. The helicopter crashed killing him, his parents and the pilot. It's crazy, the amount of instant sadness I felt for a stranger's death at five years old. But he wasn't a stranger. I felt like I knew him. I knew him as if I had spent every day with him and his family.
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