The church was mobbed, the October evening carrying the first nip of autumn. Kids hurried from football, soccer, field hockey, tennis, and cheerleading practices. Parents rushed from work. Coaches, teachers, colleagues, friends, and acquaintances—everyone was there to pay homage. One of our own had fallen.
Amy Sue Hatlee
January 22, 1969—October 6, 2017.
Her strapping sons and husband stood at the front of the church. The line to pay respects was hundreds of people deep, winding through numerous photo displays, elaborate floral arrangements, tables of food, and by a TV playing a twenty-year old video loop of Amy competing in a national level gymnastics program. I slipped two memorial funeral cards into my raincoat pocket and waited my turn to offer a few rushed words of sympathy.
Amy and I weren’t best friends or even close, maybe going out to dinner once in the last decade, but we always chatted at our sons’ sporting events. She made everybody feel comfortable and as if they were a dear, important person in her life.
I keep one of Amy’s prayer placards in my phone case and one pinned to my bulletin board above my computer. They’re laminated and sturdy. She smiles at me—beautiful and vivacious, her eyes glowing and her enthusiasm contagious—and now she’s dead.
I think about her often.
Though I was on the periphery of her life well outside her immediate circle of friends and family, her death has had a profound effect on me. Her life cut short and shattered is a jarring reminder that none of us are safe. It’s obscene that she didn’t get to see her son’s final high school lacrosse season or to witness his graduation. That her kids won’t have their mother in the pew when they marry is unfair. That Amy’s mother and father and brother had to bury their daughter and sister is abominable. Her husband, still a young man, is now a widower and that is atrocious. The natural order of things has been disturbed. Young, vivacious mothers aren’t supposed to die. This is unsettling and life changing for those left behind. Even for those of us who only knew her in passing.
The final conversation I had with Amy was at a lacrosse showcase last summer. She was fighting with her insurance company to approve a new treatment. The cancer had come back. But she was determined to battle both disease and the insurance quagmire. A standout athlete and champion coach, she was the type of person who expected to win and to be victorious. The last few months of her life I only got to watch from the sidelines via her close friends’ Facebook posts. I never stopped thinking about her, and I find it bewildering how often someone I didn’t know very well crosses my mind now that she’s gone.
When I feel fear, I slide Amy’s card from my wallet. Especially when the trepidation about my writing and my artistic endeavors is heavy, I remember Amy. When the negative voices in my head, shout obscenities, saying “You suck. You’ll never make it,” I consider Amy. When a poor review comes in or I hear that a friend thinks my blog oversteps familial boundaries and is ridiculous, I bring to mind Amy. She smiles up at me from that shiny, plastic card, pushing me forward, urging me to stay the course, and reminding me that she will not get the chance. She won’t get to follow her dreams. So I do it—the thing that the little voices say is laughable, foolish, out-of-bounds. I do it for Amy.
I wonder how many other people are walking around my hometown with Amy Hatlee’s funeral card in their wallet. She was an inspiration. Her legacy lives on and I will carry her with me the rest of my days.
Amy loved sunflowers because they always turned their heads toward the sun.
***
No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were: any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.
—John Donne, English Poet
***
My novel, What The Valley Knows,
is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Black Rose Writing. Click HERE to read the first three chapters for FREE!
xoxo,
Heather
“A taut, compelling family tale.”
Kirkus Reviews
Heather, thank you for introducing Amy Sue Hatlee to me. Your comments make her vibrantly alive in my thoughts and now I, too, will not forget her. I’m so sorry her life ended so soon yet I love how you have birthed her legacy of tenacity and love to all who read your words. Please accept my sympathies for the loss of Amy’s physical presence in your life, in her family’s life and in your community. What a brilliant idea to keep Amy’s image close by to you always.
I also thank you, Heather, for sharing your memories with me. Last Saturday, 6/23/18, I attended the funeral of a dear friend of mine, Barbara Hughes. Barbara was also a great athlete, a gentle soul with a delightful sense of humor, and I had the blessing of going to lunch with her the day before her surgery (from which she never recovered). I’m still bouncing from one stage of grief to another and your tribute to Amy gives me comfort. Thank you, dear Friend and Wonderful Writer.
Congratulations also to you on your new novel. I’m celebrating you from afar.
Love, Carol
Thank for reading and sharing, Carol. My deepest condolences to you about the loss of your friend Barbara.
This is so moving . It makes me remember to hug my children, grandchildren and husband like there is no tomorrow .
It’s a hard thing, this thing called life, isn’t it?? We are called to fully “be” in our moments, to create now, not later, to love and honor each other, and your lovely story here puts me back in touch with that priority. Thanks, Heather.
Beautifully said, Jen.
Heather, this is beautiful and touching. I recently lost my sister to cancer. She, like Amy, fought hard, always staying positive and inspiring others… a true warrior.
I also have her laminated funeral cards, one in my wallet and one on my vanity mirror. She had told me to enjoy life and find the beauty in each and everyday. I am doing this, and it has changed my perspective about everything .
Lynn, I am so sorry about the loss of your sister. Losing someone puts this whole life thing into perspective. My deepest condolences.
I remember her always smiling. My children and I knew her through the GM community. I saw her last just two weeks before she passed being inducted into GM hall of fame at a football game. Ringing that bell 5 times. What a great memory. Thank you Heather!
Thanks so much for sharing this and how deeply impacted you. I am always amazed how many people Amy impacted and influenced in so many way. As always with you, so wonderfully written!! Thank you!!
Thank you for allowing me to share my feelings about Amy. She touched people far and wide.
Thank you. Your words reminded me yet again how precious every moment we have on this earth is. 🙏
Thanks, Michele. I am grateful some good can come out of Amy’s tragic, premature passing.
I too have her funeral card in my purse. A very special lady. Great blog ❤️
Heather, this is a beautiful tribute. Death is so far-reaching. Amy apparently affected many, many lives–it’s a wonderful legacy.
Peace be with everyone.
Amy has a special place in all of our hearts! I miss her so much! That was a beautiful tribute to her…..thanks for sharing.
Well written & so true Heather but I feel there’s so much more and I hope you don’t mind if I share some of my thoughts. I believe with my whole heart that there is my true home waiting for me in heaven. A place that is beyond any of our comprehension in beauty, goodness & love. A place where all our pain, anger, sadness & fears melt away to pure bliss & joy. A place we can still see & share in our loved ones special moments on earth. There is still a place in our loved ones hearts where a piece of us resides until we are joined with them once again in heaven. A place in their hearts that if they listen carefully they can still hear us. I know this is my belief and certainly not everyone’s & that is ok, but I still think the words give some peace.
Your words are beautiful and inspiring. I, too, have Amy’s beautiful face on her card in my kitchen. I wear her Hatlee Strong T-shirts weekly and am also reminded of her fight and zest for life . She is one of a kind. 🌻