Posted on by loia

the boy who went fishing and never came home

a memory I have carried…

…

I still see him
when I think of that summer…

a small boy
with a fishing pole bigger than his arms…

walking the neighborhood
like he belonged to no one… and everyone at the same time…

I didn’t know then
that some children are already alone
before anything bad ever happens…

…

that summer hung over us like syrup…
slow…
impossible to escape…

he was always there on those endless days…
quiet…
never saying a word…
just giggling
smiling a lot…

his face dirty…
always alone…

he moved like a question mark…
drifting through the neighborhood…
always in spaces kids that age
weren’t usually allowed to be
by themselves…

something in me felt off about it…
but I ignored it…

because kids do that…

I told myself…
that’s what summers do…

scattering children
like dandelion fluff…

at first.. I thought
a grown-up had to be nearby…
surely one would come for him…

but they never did…

…

until that one day…

…

That summer—
I was staying at my aunt’s…
with my cousin…

a place always full of noise
and boys
and bikes
and long days…

I was 12…

there were a lot of us my age…
we all fished…
it was just what you did…

you grabbed a pole
walked
until the water showed up…

the lake sat in the neighborhood
like it belonged to us…

and on those days…
it did…

we went there laughing…
competing…
pretending we knew what we were doing…

none of us thought twice about it…

back then…

the water…
was just water…

…

we walked with our poles dragging behind us…
dust lifting
settling again…

no hurry…
no reason to hurry…

the neighborhood felt stretched out that afternoon…
like the distance between things had grown…

it felt like the world
was holding its breath…

I remember thinking
the day was taking its time…

not knowing
why that made me uneasy…

…

I saw him…

his quiet smile…

there by the water’s edge…

he was fishing…
by himself…
like always…

his name was
little Jerry

he was
5

…

we got bored of fishing the way kids do…
lines reeled in…
poles dropped in the dirt…

someone said swimming…
and that was enough…

we ran to a neighbor’s house
down the street…

his mom was outside…
she cut a watermelon open
on the porch for us…

red juice down our wrists…
seeds stuck to our fingers…

laughing…
sticky…
unknowing…

the last normal thing…

…

the air tasted like sugar and sun—
and I remember thinking
I’d never seen a red
brighter than that watermelon…

when we walked back toward the lake…
the day was gone…

the air was torn open…
like something holy…

I heard a woman screaming
before I saw her…

…

oh no… my baby…
oh no… my baby…

…

again and again…
like the words were all she had left…

someone’s radio was playing
on a distant porch…
bright
against the screams…

my aunt was there…
standing still…
her face not hers anymore…

people were running…
shoes left behind…
voices everywhere…

and without anyone telling us…
we went into the water…

all of us…
spreading out…

hands down…
feet searching the bottom…

the water smelled like mud and metal…

it was no longer just water…

…

I stood beside my aunt…
searching…

then her voice split through everything—
in a tone I had never heard before…

…

oh my God…
here he is…
I have him…

…

I’ll never forget seeing him come up
from beneath the surface…

the water ran off him
like silver threads…

with him in her arms—
she rushed to shore…

he just laid there… still…
quiet…

fear was on the air—

CPR…
chest compressions…

pressing…
breathing…
pressing…
breathing…

the images…
stacked on each other…
in my mind…

everyone was praying
when the ambulance arrived…

they took him away…
still working…
still trying…

…

and so…

…

he wouldn’t make it that day—

…

he died in the back of the ambulance
on the way to the hospital…

…

his fishing pole…

at my feet…

…

the hook…

still baited…

…

the water went still again…

…

Matthew 19:14
Let the little children come to me… for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these…

© 2026 Bryan Loia Hudson. All rights reserved.

`’.,°~          🎣-¡

83 Replies to “the boy who went fishing and never came home”

  1. This haunting reflection captures the quiet tragedy of a child drifting through the cracks of a community’s awareness. Your words ache with the heavy, syrupy heat of that summer, painting a portrait of a boy who was a ghost before he was a memory. It is a gut-wrenching reminder that neglect doesn’t always scream; sometimes, it just smiles and giggles until it vanishes. You’ve captured that “off” feeling—the instinctive chill we suppress because we want the world to be safer than it is. That “question mark” of a boy remains an open wound, a symbol of every child who belonged to “everyone” but was truly held by no one. It’s a shattering, beautiful, and necessary piece of storytelling.

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      3. I am a whisper from the Great Rift, a song from the Baobabs.

        Where the wild things roam, there I call home.

        My story begins where the world began.

        Here’s your lad from Africa (Ghana).

        Liked by 2 people

      4. That’s great… I have many friends in Africa.. and I’m actually an online member of a church in Uganda… blessings to you my brother… and thank you again for taking the time to read and comment my life…

        Liked by 2 people

      5. Africa is the home. It’s enthusing to stay in touch or connect with the church…be blessed…you are always quite welcome brother…and should you ever need a shoulder to lean upon or a friend/nabe to communicate in the depths, I am on hand…lift up your head okay…

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  2. This piece is quietly powerful and deeply affecting. The imagery is gentle on the surface, yet heavy with unease and truth beneath it. The way you capture childhood—its freedom, its blindness, its instinct to normalize what feels wrong—is heartbreaking in its honesty.

    The small details linger: the oversized fishing pole, the syrup-thick summer, the boy drifting like a question mark. They build a sense of foreboding without ever forcing it. And that closing turn—“until that one day…”—lands with haunting restraint.

    It’s a memory written with care, compassion, and maturity. Subtle, human, and unforgettable.

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    1. This means a lot to me… I wanted to honor the memory without turning it into spectacle.. and your words tell me it stayed human… That was my hope all along… Thank you for reading it so carefully…

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  8. Hits in the gut. Kids are going through hell all around this world. Truth is that we have all put blinders on, for various things. Even as grownups. Never justified. Blessings for sharing.

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    1. Yes… that’s the truth of it.. This is the part of the world we don’t want to look at — but it’s there..Thank you friend… for sitting with it and for the blessing…

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  9. Pingback: the boy who went fishing and never came home (edited) – a moment of peace

  14. Very sad. I remember a similar incident when I was 18. I , and some friends were standing next to a river, when a little girl feel into the water. Her face was looking up from beneath the water’s surface. Fortunately, I was able to pull her to safety. I will never forget that day. But, I have often wondered, “what if I hadn’t been there?”

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    1. That’s powerful. Thank God you were there—those moments stay with you forever… I think they change us in ways we don’t even fully realize.. I used to often think.. what If I hadn’t left to go swimming at the friends house.. and just stayed at the lake and fished like I normally did.. I could have kept an eye on him… thank you so much for sharing…

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  19. I’m grateful for how carefully this was held—not shaped into meaning, not explained away, just witnessed. The restraint lets the silence do what words cannot, and in that, Jerry is not turned into a lesson, but honored as a life remembered.

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      1. it was near Denham in buckinghamshire i was fishing with an older cousin in river/canal. to cut a long story short two boys in a totally inadequate boat got in trouble in nearby gravel pits(one drowned) wont bore you with all that afternoon, but i had identical thought to you “this is the last moments of some mother’s happy life. Quite soon a policeman will arrive and her life with change inextricably forever” desperately sad never forgotten it

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      2. Thank you for trusting me with that memory… it says a lot about your heart that you still hold space for that mother all these years later. some afternoons follow us for a lifetime.

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  24. Its always hard losing someone. I lost my baby sister Bees to sepsis. And it could have been avoided by the nurse on staff, calling the ambulance 🚑 which she failed to do.

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  28. If anyone had a gift of writing it is definitely you, a talent straight from above. All children go to heaven as there is forgiveness for their tender heart’s of youth. Rest assured you will see him again.

    May Gods healing arms hold you in comfort from such a great loss.

    Be Blessed

    Julia

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  29. If anyone had a gift of writing it is definitely you, a talent straight from above. All children go to heaven as there is forgiveness for their tender heart’s of youth. Rest assured you will see him again.

    May Gods healing arms hold you in comfort from such a great loss.

    Be Blessed

    Julia

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

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