Sand Castle

“Where are we going, Daddy?”

“We’re going to play a game, honey. Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy it.”

“Is it at the beach?”

“Yes. You like the beach, don’t you?”

“Oh yes. I like the beach. Is Mommy gonna be there?”

“Mommy can’t be there today. She’s working.”

“Is grandma gonna be there?”

“I’m afraid today it’s just you and me, hon. But that’s okay. We’ll have fun.”

“Can I build a castle?”

“You can build one castle or two castles. I’ll help you.”

“Can I buy cotton candy?”

“You can buy two things—cotton candy and something else. What would you like?”

“Maybe popcorn.”

“That’s it then. Cotton candy and popcorn. Good choices.”

Sitting on the second pew with his sorrowful wife and grieving family members and friends, Karl Mueller recalled the conversation with his daughter, Marie Clair, as they drove to the semi-deserted beach. He remembered how the two of them had played several hours on the sand then in the salty water. He’d been teaching Marie how to swim.

“Don’t be afraid,” he’d told her. “I’m not gonna let you sink. Don’t you trust me?”

Marie nodded and continued practising. She laughed. Learning to swim made her feel like a big girl. But soon Karl began acting strange. He became totally unresponsive.

“Daddy!” was Marie’s last word when he let go of her.

Karl then had to rush to find the police and act upset. He told them he’d been careless and had fallen asleep on his beach towel as Marie was building a sand castle. She must’ve gone to play in the water during his nap. Since she couldn’t swim, he guessed he’d never know why she’d done such a thing.