Forgiving My Daughter's Killer by Kate Grosmaire

Author:Kate Grosmaire
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2015-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

“We’re having a program to honor Ann,” Rod Durham said over the phone. “Can you come?”

While the funeral at Good Shepherd was packed full of friends and loved ones, there was one noticeably absent group: Ann’s theater peers. On that day, the Leon Thespians were in Tampa for state competition, so at 2:00 p.m.—the exact time our service started—the drama troupe formed a circle at the hotel to honor her. As soon as everybody was back in town on Tuesday night, the teens wanted to share their memories with us.

We were deeply touched that they wanted to remember Ann, but we weren’t sure what to expect when we arrived at the small auditorium classroom. It began with the song “We Shall Walk Through the Valley in Peace.” Then two of her friends, Colin and Casey, gave short but touching eulogies about how she was a behind-the-scenes helper as a student director, a member of the technical crew, and a stage manager.

When she was a senior, Ann came out from the background and was persuaded to be one of the main characters in the play Proposals. That year, she won the Thespian of the Year Award, which would be named “Ann Grosmaire Thespian of the Year” in her honor after we created a drama scholarship.

“She was quiet, but when she talked,” Casey said, “people respected her.” It was so moving to hear what a good friend Ann had been to Casey. Afterward, they sang “The Rose” and finished with Sarah Folsom singing “Angel.” The way this memorial would work was simple. Each person had thought of one word to describe their friend, which they’d say as they lit one of the tea lights on the table at the front.

The first student came up to the table, grabbed the lighter, and ignited the little wick. “Witty.”

Another walked up, lit the next candle, and simply said, “Beautiful.”

The next: “Reliable.”

It was very powerful in its simplicity. Though they were drama students, this was no performance. After about the fifth student went to the table, lit the candle, and uttered his one-word tribute, I suddenly thought: We’re not recording this. I won’t remember this. I’m not writing this down. I’ll forget the words.

“Funny,” a student said.

“Loyal,” said another.

“Considerate.”

The words were so beautiful, so poignant. I told myself to enjoy the experience instead of worrying about documenting it. I remember thinking every parent of a teenager would want to hear their teen described by their friends in this way—maybe for graduation or another significant milestone.

Honestly, I’d sometimes get frustrated at Ann for staying so late at her play practices. She’d be at school until ten or eleven o’clock at night, then be exhausted by the time she got home.

“Did you do your homework?” I asked after she rolled in late one night.

“Sure,” she said, not paying me much attention.

“When?” I asked. “If every night you’re up there for the play?”

At the time, drama created . . . well, drama between us, as well as the other aspects of teenage life.

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