A Father and his Daughter

A Father and his Daughter
Maggie Doyle
Mrs. LeFebre H. English 10 Comp.
Second Hr., 9.13.06

There comes a time in our lives where we have to face the unfaceable. Things you never thought could or would happen to you, start happening. I can remember him so well, and it’s hard, even to this day, to think that he is no longer with the family he loved so much. I can remember going to Ame’s house and seeing him. I can remember when he coached my soccer team, my last year on Holland’s Recreation Soccer League. I can remember all these things, and yet, I can’t imagine how he could have left us and I can’t imagine Ame getting on without him.
Ame Richards was in third grade when she came to Lakeview Elementary School. That’s where I first met her. She was nice, really shy, and cried easily. She had just moved here from Wisconsin, and she seemed pretty cool. We bonded quickly and I was the first person that she ever had to her house after moving here. We made butterscotch brownies in the basement with her mom. We had a lot of fun together, Ame and I, and we had tons in common. I would go on trips to the zoo with her, and I practically lived at her house sometimes. I would go over and we would play Barbies. Granted, at third, fourth, and fifth grade, we might have seemed a little old for Barbies, but we didn’t care. Ame was the only other friend I had who still liked them. We kept it a secret, though. Another thing we loved doing together was playing school. Ame wanted to be a teacher when she grew up and I had a lot fun playing with her. So, sometimes at home, I would type up math sheets, word sheets, fake report cards, and who knows what else! I would print them out to give to her so that she had papers to use when she played school. We shared a love of horses, as well. There was a barn behind her house and sometimes we would walk over there and pet the horses or just watch them laze around. When we were in fifth grade, our last elementary school year, a big group of our friends played recreation soccer, as usual. The coolest thing about that year was her dad being our coach. He made sure the big ‘Lakeview’ group of us were on a team together. That was probably the best soccer year of my life.
Unfortunately, when we transitioned to middle school, Ame switched to Black River and I to Holland West. This was super sad for me, but, I moved on. I still thought about Ame sometimes, and I even saw her on occasion, but we didn’t ever hang out like we used to. I had other friends and she had other friends, too. So, time went on like that for the next three years. It seems crazy to think about now, but it really was three years since our strong bond of friendship was broken.
On Wednesday, June 8, 2005 my mother, who typically reads the newspaper in the morning, called to me from the kitchen. This, not being unusual, I came out of my room, pulling on a shirt.
“Yeah, Mom?” I asked, looking at her. I could tell immediately that something was up by the look she was giving me over her newspaper. “What?” I asked again, slightly more puzzled and a lot more worried.
Laying her newspaper flat and resting her elbows on it she leaned across the table to me and said, “I think I might have some bad news.”
I remember cold coursing through my body at this point. Every nerve was on end, everything around me felt surreal. “What is it?” I asked cautiously.
“I think Ame’s dad died,” she said looking me in the eye.
I felt the warm slowly creep back into my body, but a leadened feeling settled in my chest.
“Ame Richards?” I asked, but I knew the answer even before that nod. “Nuh-uh,” I said in disbelief, coming over to look at the newspaper. “When did it happen?” I asked in complete shock and awe.
“Monday night,” she replied.
I read the extremely short article and was slightly upset with the newspaper. Didn’t they know what a great guy this person was? Didn’t they know how involved he was? Didn’t they know how much he loved his kids? And yet, all they could do was put a four sentence smidgen in the newspaper, notifying us that he died at the scene and that the rest remains under investigation? And that’s when I thought of Ame. That’s when I thought of her mom, Ronnie, that’s when I thought of her younger brother A.J. The balmy feeling that had momentarily filled me was gone. I could feel my skin shiver on my bones. It was like a thousand needles were lightly pressing into every inch of my being. My breath caught and I sat down.
“Oh-my-God Mom, Ame,” was all I could say.
She gave me a very sad and sympathetic look. “I know, sweetheart,” she said, and enveloped me in a hug.
“Is she going to be okay?” I asked into her shoulder.
“She should be, if she gets the right kind of help, but Maggie, don’t worry, that Ronnie is a smart cookie.”
I wanted to cry, it seemed like the thing to do, but I didn’t feel like I had any tears to spare. It was too sad to cry about. It was as though my tears would be wasted.
That day at school, it got passed around to all the Lakeview kids, what had happened. Cards of sympathy went around for everyone to sign. Even kids who didn’t know Ame, but had heard about her signed them with their greatest sorrow and regrets. I signed every card that came my way, but I knew they couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even begin to express in words the immense sorrow and regret I felt. There was no way to tell her how it hurt me continuously, even when I wasn’t thinking about it. There was no way to explain to her how my heart ached any time I heard the name Richards thrown around in worried voices, anxious to pass on the gossip.
That day, my mom came home a little early from work. She stepped in the door, said, “Come on,” and we left. We went to Indigo Floral, downtown, and picked out flowers to send to Ame. I picked out a cute lime-green vase because, when I knew Ame, lime-green was her favorite color. The flowers were pretty and the arrangement was nice, but I had a half of a square inch to write something to her. I couldn’t even begin to tell her how sorry I was. I gave it a go, though.
The next day there was a much better article in the paper. In the obituaries. That was another shock to my system. Glancing down the newspaper I never expected to see a name I knew in the ‘Today’s Deaths.’ This explained a little bit more about who he was and gave the names of all those surviving him. Ame and A.J. were second only to their mother. I remember reading ‘Amelia Hattie and Alan Johnson’ and thinking how upset Ame would be when she saw that her middle name was printed in the paper. She hated her middle name. But then I realized that she probably didn’t care. That she probably couldn’t even think right now. Then I realized that A.J. shared his dad’s name. Alan, or Al as we knew him, named his only son Alan. The death notice also said that the viewing was to be on Saturday, June 11 at 2:00. I decided that I wasn’t important enough to go. I hadn’t seen Ame in who knows how long, and she might not want me there anyway. Until, my mother told me that the two of us were going. She said that the best thing about her father’s funeral was the copious amounts of people showing up and how good it made her feel that her father was so loved. I was scared to go; I didn’t know WHAT I was going to say to Ame, let alone her mother.
I was terrified walking up to the Church, I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t want Ame to be so sad that she couldn’t stop crying, and I really didn’t want her to pretend to be happy either. But, the second I walked through those doors, Ame’s head popped out the back of a crowd of people. She gave me a huge toothy grin and ran over to me saying, “Thank you for the flowers!”
As I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face in her hair, I felt my whole being relax a little bit. So, she didn’t 'not want me to be there', she wasn’t so sad that she couldn’t smile, and she was wearing the same lime green color as the vase I had sent her. As I hugged her, I told her how sorry I was. I spent a little over an hour there with her. There were all sorts of pictures of Al set up. Pictures of him as a baby, pictures of him going to prom with Ronnie, on his wedding day, at the birth of his children, and even by airplanes. He loved airplanes, and worked on them as a profession. I stood around with Ame, looking at all the pictures and we laughed together as she said, “Look, that’s what my mom wore to prom! Ewww!” And she pointed at the picture of her mother and father, both dressed up, him, with his arm around her, both grinning broadly, not knowing that one day they would be married. Not knowing that one day they would have two beautiful children together. Not knowing that one day he would be taken so soon and so unfairly. He was only thirty-eight when he died.

My mom talked to Ame, too. She made sure she was eating and sleeping, and that she was doing okay. Ame talked to us normally which was a BIG relief for me. I was renting a horse that summer at a barn behind the barn, behind her house. I rode Strawberry by her house everyday and thought of her. So, thinking of that, I invited her to come horseback riding with me sometime. I told her that I remembered how she liked horses and that she was welcome to come anytime she wanted to. She thanked me and told me that I had to come see the new pool they had put in.
I eventually spotted A.J. and was astounded to see that he was a mirror image of his father. He had always resembled him growing up, but now, it was rather, a little ‘Mr. Richards’ in front of me. He was avoiding everyone and walking around looking at things though, he didn’t seem to really be seeing them. When people would try to talk to him, he would answer quickly and scurry away.
When we finally had to leave, my mother and I walked past Al’s open casket. I couldn’t look inside. I couldn’t look in and see the man who had once cheered me on playing soccer. Not now, not now that he was dead. I could remember running to him after I scored the goal that thrust us to be undefeated and him picking me up and hugging me like a father. I couldn’t look at his lifeless form, laying there. It was so unfair. How could he leave his kids? How could he leave Ame like this? His son was in SIXTH GRADE! No sixth grader should have to deal with losing their father. And Ame’s kids, if she has any, will never know their grandfather. And there were so many great things to know about him, too.
As I passed the casket I saw Ronnie. She looked very good considering what had happened; she was smiling and thanking people for coming. When she saw me she said, “Oh, Maggie!” Then she gave me such a hug, one of those that only a mom can give, that I almost started crying. I wanted to be strong for them, though; I wanted to be strong for Ame. “Ame, loved those flowers you sent her, they were so sweet.” She said, with a little extra squeeze. Then, taking my hands in hers and pulling me slightly away from the crowd she said, smiling, “Al always liked you. He loved your free-spirit and your aggressiveness on the soccer field. He truly admired your love of life.”
That was nearly more than I could take. I felt my eyes sting and had to fight to blink back tears. I couldn’t look her in the face although she kept searching for my eyes. Then she gave me another hug as people started surrounding us again. She thanked me for coming; I nodded, and thanked her very much.
When I got home I took all the newspaper clippings I had cut out and stashed them away in a box that I have to this day. I also dug through all of my old soccer photos and found the one of our fifth grade team. It was so hard to look at him in that picture, and realize that he no longer walks this earth. There he was, sure as anything and yet he is no longer here. He is no longer with his baby girl. He is no longer with his only son.
There were times when we talked with Ame and she looked close to tears and there were times when she looked just like her old self. I didn’t get it. How could she be so normal, so happy, with her dad just dead? I asked my mom about it later and she told me that ‘You just get on with life.’ She told me that life drags you along behind and you stumble aimlessly after it. She said that life is like a stream that you’re caught in and it just keeps pulling you along with it. I thought about that a lot. I didn’t think that I would be able to get on with life if my father died, but, I realized, how could I not? Ame couldn’t stop living because her dad did.
That situation taught me something important that day. That no matter how hard things are, you can go on living. Ame did. She is an inspiration to me, to this day, and I continually think about her. The world didn’t stop when her dad died; she had to go on living. She had to go back to school; she had to face everything that she didn’t want to, she had to brush back her hair, straighten her shoulders, and face all the hurt and loneliness head-on.
I still think of Al. Even today. Why, just the other day, I was looking through pictures of me playing soccer. I didn’t even realize what I was looking at until I saw a picture of me throwing in a ball that had gone out of bounds and my coach, with his back to the camera, walking up to me My heart skipped a beat when I realized who it was. He was forever frozen in that memory. Forever suspended in the camera. Never to leave that cold spring day, never to stop soccer. It was so unexpected to see him in that picture. He just popped up on me! He continues to impact my life, long after his death. I guess, it just goes to show, that he truly did leave his print behind on this earth, on his daughter, on his son, and on me.
I know now, that no matter HOW hard things get, the world isn’t going to stop and neither is that stream of life. It will always be there to gently carry me along while I follow blindly, or eyes wide open, for reasons I may never know.