Her Name was Ava

The day I lost her, was the day I lost myself.

I never thought this would happen to me. I’d tried to make sure everything was safe, and yet something managed to slip by me. Something I never even dreamed of happening. Something that broke me.

Being a single mother, raising a beautiful daughter was my pleasure in life. She was the sun, a bright shiny face and lovely blonde braids. I loved her more than anything, I never knew I was capable of love this deep until she came into my life. I’d always put her first: she got the bigger bedroom, she had lots of stuffed animals and fake tea parties, she went to a good school a couple blocks down. Her safety had always been the most important thing to me, and I’d been so ignorant I hadn’t noticed a huge hole in my otherwise flawless plan.

On February 21st, a sunny Tuesday, my daughter Ava went to school while I stayed at home, making some adorable custom-made earrings for a client, and I waited until 3:30, which was when she usually came home. I stood on the porch, waiting for her, yet she did not show. At 4 o’clock I marched down to the school, demanding to know where my daughter was. They’d said that she had gone home. I walked the route Ava usually took back to my home, until I noticed the ambulances down the street. I was in heels, but I’d never run that fast, and never would again.

When I reached the policemen, as well as the ambulance, I waded my way through the thick crowd, shoving people aside carelessly. When I came to the centre, I saw my little 7 year old on the ambulance bed, and the doctors were trying to give her life again, trying as hard as the could to give her breath. I noticed the scarlet scars that covered her face, arms, legs, basically her whole body. My breath escaped me as I collapsed, unable to deal with the fear.

“Thats…Thats my...my d-d-daughter!” I stammered, tears blurring my vision. I crawled over to the bed and pushed myself up to my knees, until I was at eye level with Ava. My hands were sweating, and I put her hand in mine, only to find her hand to be cold, lifeless. Tears flowed freely over my face, and sounds of horror escaped my pursed mouth. I wailed, I screamed, I sobbed, I prayed that God let this angel live. But he did not hear, for he did not let her live.

I stayed by her on that street for what seemed like decades, until the police dragged me away, announcing they had to clear everyone off the site. The car that had killed her, a drunken driver I had never seen before was sobbing in the front seat of the little Prius. My little Ava, my daughter, dead. I leant over, fighting with all I had to stay with her, but the police forced me to go. When I was so weak that my body would no longer support my weight, the police took me to another ambulance, announcing I would have to stay in a hospital for a few days to make sure I was okay. I felt cheated, hated, attacked. They’d taken away the one light in my life, and they thought I would be okay. Far from it. Living without her was something I did not want to do.

The day I lost her, was the day I lost myself.

Because no matter how much love you’ve got, sometimes you just can’t have a happy ending.