A good friend of mine was in a family that owned a funeral home. He was pretty much forced to work at the place. He went on many body retrievals from an early age. When he was 18 he went on his last retrieval. A very fat lady had committed suicide with a shotgun while sitting in the bathtub and it was several days before the body was found.

He said he just went home and showered, collected his clothes and drove away from home to start living on his own. He walked away from the family business. It was 10 years before he ever went back home.

I wrote my experience down because - well, I'm a writer and it's just a habit I guess. It's funny what we remember. I haven't looked a the account I wrote for years, but when I did think about it I remembered the car sliding in the grass at a normal speed and then launching into the air so fast and spinning so violently. I remember stuff flying out of it as it spun, including what turned out to be the victim. I remember it hitting the ground and bouncing and rolling some more. And I remember looking at the girl's hand as she was dying and thinking about how small and delicate it was. I don't have a visual memory of any of the rest of it.