Living With a Broken Heart: Chapter 2: An Angel Gets Her Wings (Part 1)
In the classic movie, “It’s A Wonderful Life”, Angel Second Class Clarence Oddbody tells George Bailey, “Every time you hear a bell ring, it means that some angel’s just got his wings.” I didn’t hear the bells ringing on November 24, 2001; but if Clarence is right then I know they were ringing wildly, because on that cold November day, my own angel Ashley received her wings and flew away to heaven.
Ashley Jean O’Rear was born on April 27, 1987, in Corpus Christi, Texas. I was 25 years old, my wife Susan was 22, and Ashley was our first child. We were young, and we were so excited to have been blessed by God with such a beautiful child.
Ashley was the classic “bundle of joy”. Her presence in our lives would cause us to experience life, and love, and joy from a whole new perspective and at a much deeper level than we had ever imagined before becoming parents. In the words of a song that I wrote in Ashley’s memory shortly after her death …
“The day you came into my life, my world began anew.
I didn’t know that love could run as deep as I love you.”
Probably the most characteristic quality that became apparent very early in Ashley’s life was her upbeat, positive, happy attitude. My heart is filled with priceless memories of the fourteen years we had Ashley with us, and our house is filled with photographs that preserve those memories and make them more tangible. Rare is the picture in which she is not smiling or laughing.
Even in those snapshots that encapsulate only a split second of time, there is an infectious enthusiasm in her eyes and in her smile that reaches out and grabs you and will not let go. There was something almost magical about her spirit that stole the hearts of almost everyone who knew her. I miss that magic.
Though her personality was quite animated, she was not very excitable. I remember one particular occasion when Ashley was about three or four years old. Susan and I were sitting in the living room, watching television, and Ashley and Justin were in their rooms playing. From Ashley’s room came a wee, distant voice. “Daaaaddy, I stuck.”
Susan and I got up from the couch and proceeded to Ashley’s room. We entered the doorway, but did not see Ashley anywhere. Once again came the voice. “Daaaaddy, I stuck.” By following her voice, we found Ashley on the floor, with her head stuck between the bed and the wall. She could not move and was unable to free herself. But she did not panic or become hysterical. Nor was she crying or screaming, which would have been the expected reaction from any typical three- or four-year-old child. Rather, she simply called for help in a very calm voice, and Daddy came and rescued her.
I like that phrase, “rescued her”, because it conjures up the image of a knight in shining armor coming to the rescue of his Princess! Every Daddy wants to think that he is his little girl’s hero. For me, there will be no more opportunities to be Ashley’s hero, so I must hold dearly the memories of occasions such as the one just described. As silly as it may seem, doing so helps me cling to a hope that perhaps I fulfilled the role of hero for my precious little girl.