Walking Through Ariel's Yearly Parade

Step. Step. Step. Step. Gotta keep in line with my family. Remember to wave, always smile, keep your head up. Don’t cry. Never cry.

I wonder if she cried. Though, that would probably break us to know. Our hearts are broken enough. I wonder if-

Stop thinking! Keep walking in line. Feel the sun on your skin. Remember the candy for the children.

They definitely don’t understand why we’re here. But her own kids might. Kyle and Teri are smart. They know their mom is gone. But I wonder if they know their dad did it.

Step. Step. Keep walking with the semi plastered with her face. Don’t look too long, you’ll cry. Don’t reminisce.

But I want to. I want to cry. I want to remember. I want to remember the time she gave me a barbie because the other kids didn’t want to play with me. I want to remember the dance I did with her at her wedding. I want to remember her smile, her laugh, her sass. All parts about her deserve remembering.

Dammit, don’t cry! You don’t deserve to cry, anyway. She was your cousin who lived far away. You barely saw her maybe twice a year, sometimes three if the family really wanted to gather. Keep walking in line.

She asked me to babysit after Teri fell asleep in my arms when we were gathered for another cousin’s state dance competition. Even through all that noise and cheering around us, Teri just fell asleep in my arms. When Ariel asked me to babysit even when I lived hours away I told her yes, and I wasn’t joking. I even said we needed to hang out, just us. But we never got to. That was the last year she could come to state dance. That was 2022. Then her husband…

Step. Step. Teardrop. Step. Step. Sniffle. Don’t look at the semi. Don’t look at the kids. Look at the people.

The people who didn’t know her. They don’t get the luxury of knowing her because she was ripped from this earth by the very man who swore on their wedding day that he would protect and love her. Is that love? Is yelling without holding back love? Is breaking down bathroom doors love? Is hitting love? Is 11 bullets love?

Stop crying, dammit! People are staring. Think of the children. You’re scaring them.

Yes, the children. The two beautiful children who were in the car and heard 12 “pops.” The children who now live with their grandparents who loved their daughter so much. Who would have done anything, and still will, for her and for those two amazing children. We had to fight for them. We had to fight because they were three and one years old at the time. We had to fight because a child cannot represent themselves in court. Those other grandparents saw those two wonderful children less often than I did. They didn’t care until the incident. Why did the social worker place them with those people instead of with us? Why would they do that to Kyle and Teri?

Just keep walking. Look at the ground, don’t let people see your hysterics. Step, step-

No. I will hold my head high. I will hold it high because Ariel cannot hold her head high. Because Ariel cannot walk. Because Ariel cannot cry. Because Ariel cannot breathe. Because Ariel is six feet under where she does not deserve to be. Did she deserve 11 bullets? Did she deserve terror? She just wanted to take the children to the campground with her parents and my parents. She wanted the kids to have a fun weekend. But he had to go out that day with his friends. He had to drink. He had to come back later than she expected him. He had to start an argument. He had to grab his gun. He had to shoot her while she walked away. He had to shoot himself. He had to take away our opportunity to seek justice. The coward.

Step…Step…stop. Break down crying because you overwhelmed yourself. Say you’re sorry to your mom and aunt-

No. I will not apologize for feeling emotion. I will not apologize for loving someone. I will never apologize because there is nothing wrong with missing someone who deserves to be here. Someone who deserves to see her children grow up. Someone who deserves to walk in the parade with them, not to advocate to end domestic violence, but for dance team, wrestling team, and rodeo participation. She should get to see all that. Instead we take their trophies and flowers to her grave to show her how good they did. I still speak to her at that piece of cold stone as if it were really her. As if she could answer. I ask questions and they get no answer. I deserve a damn answer, but she cannot give me one because someone got too angry one day. Because someone decided to let their ire win over reasoning and logic. And instead of in a prison where he belongs, to rot until his own demise, he’s six feet under in a different cemetery.

Slowly start walking again. Let them pat your back and tell you it’s okay. Let them say they know it’s overwhelming sometimes. Let them tell you they miss her too.

She won’t be at my wedding like I was at hers. I’ll save her a seat, right next to her two incredible children. She deserves that. She deserves everything I can offer her. I’ll keep bringing her flowers on the anniversary of her death in April so she knows I remember; a blanket on her birthday in February so she doesn’t get cold in the snow; a gift box on Christmas so she isn’t left out of the present exchange; and a figurine after every town parade we walk in for her. To raise awareness for domestic violence in every moment we can. Because even though we couldn’t save Ariel, we can save others in the same and similar situations.

And stop. We’re at the end of the route. The parade is over. You made it another year. You deserve some candy and that hug Kyle and Teri are trying to give you. Because they deserve a hug too.