A Father's Kiss

A FATHER’S KISS
By Mike Dunagan


Donald Templeton sat in the pew of an unfamiliar church on a dark, dank New Orleans afternoon attending the funeral of his only daughter and, despite his pain and sorrow, smiled. His sense of loss was overwhelming, yet his faith in eternal life was not shaken.

Rather than walk down to the front row of Saint Phillips Cathedral, which was reserved for family members, Donald had chosen a bench halfway down the aisle, hoping to grieve and reflect in anonymity. He had spent all of Anna Marie’s life searching for her – 19 years of hope, fear, optimism and despair – only to discover her in the city where it all began. And where it now ends.

Donald’s eyes welled as he stared at her coffin lying at the front of the grand sanctuary. A lifetime without her, he thought, as the few stragglers who knew her found their way into the church. He tried to imagine Anna Marie growing up believing he had abandoned her; never knowing that he was searching for her, longed to find her. She spent her life thinking she was unloved, unwanted by her own father. A single tear streaked his cheek and the breath caught in his throat like a half-chewed piece of meat swallowed too soon, as he tried to fight back the emotion he felt.

It was his fault. He had badly underestimated Anna Marie’s mother, Justine. Underestimated her twice. He never really understood the depth of her hatred for him. How much she despised him. How far she would go to keep Anna Marie from him.

He should have suspected they would hide here. It was during a long vacation in the Big Easy 23-years ago that he had met Justine in a seedy little bar in the Quarter; one of those backstreet hole-in-the-wall joints full of Goth girls dressing up and punk boys dressing down. Their relationship had been immediate, intense. When he returned to New York two weeks later, she went with him.

Donald had always wanted a child, but his lifestyle and work led him to believe it would never happen. When Justine first discovered she was pregnant, she was as elated as he was – caught up in the excitement, the potential. But somewhere over the months she changed. As her belly grew, so did her hatred for him. Her fear of him. He woke one Friday and found her gone. She had thrown a few clothes in a bag and snuck out while he was sleeping. From that night forward, he had hunted them. Never giving up hope, always pursuing.

The tears flowed freely down Donald’s face as he watched the priest enter and make his way to the pulpit. So much time lost. The memories, the experiences – not stolen, but denied. He had searched for years with no luck. Finally, he had found them through a private detective. He arrived in New Orleans three days ago and called Justine. They had talked things through, reached common ground, or so he thought. Later that same night Justine had shot Anna Marie twice in the chest, then stuck the barrel in her own mouth and shot once more.

If not for the anxiety of meeting his daughter, he would have never known Anna Marie. Though embarrassing to admit, he had been spying on them. Standing across the street from the shotgun house they lived in, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, he heard the gunshots. By the time he reached Anna Marie, she was near death; life being more a memory than a reality for her. Yet, he believed he saw recognition in her eyes as he held her in his arms. Finally, he did the only thing left to do; he leaned over, gave his daughter a kiss and held her bloodied body close to his.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen,” said Father Haynes, beginning the service.

“Who can explain a tragedy such as this? A young girl, entering the prime of her life, killed. Her mother, a murderer, committing suicide. It is beyond our ability to make sense of it. To understand. These events, this tragedy, is far beyond our meager powers of comprehension.”

He paused a moment in reflection, then continued. “All we can do is believe. Have faith. We must know that Anna Marie has gone to a better life. A life free of pain. A life free of suffering. For Jesus told us to enter our Father’s house and we would enjoy eternal life. Life everlasting. Regardless of the ordeals Anna Marie endured in this lifetime, she has left them behind forever. We mustn’t attempt to make sense of her death, but instead, we should celebrate her rebirth.”

Donald Templeton was surprised how comforting he found the words of the priest. He knew his daughter was beyond all of this now. The priest was right; she was reborn. And this thought brought him comfort. Even joy.

The service was short. Beyond the traditional sentiments, there was little to be said. Donald sat silently until the other few guests had left, then watched as workers moved Anna Marie’s coffin out the back doors to the waiting hearse parked behind the church. He rose from his seat and turned, coming face-to-face with the priest.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” said Father Haynes, “but, I saw you sitting here and thought you might want to join us for the graveside services. I’m afraid there are very few people to see this young girl off and…”

“Thank you Father,” said Donald, his voice still echoing his pain, “but I’m afraid I won’t be able to attend. I have severe allergies that keep me from going out often. Today’s rain helped make it possible to attend this service, but I think the graveside might be too much…for my allergies and my emotions.”

“I see, are you a friend of the family?”

Donald hesitated, then confessed. “No, I’m Anna Marie’s father.”

Father Haynes paled, embarrassed at not knowing. “I’m so sorry. I knew the police said…um, and I know you called…but…well, I’m so sorry for your loss…really, words just can’t say…”

“Please Father, it’s alright. And thank you for arranging all of this. I trust you received the check and all was in order.”

“Yes, of course. I wish there was more we could do…”

“You’ve done plenty.” Donald paused, “Father, I also want to thank you for your kind words today. I found incredible solace in them.”

“Are you Catholic, my son?”

“No Father,” said Donald, a slight chuckle in his voice. “But, I am pleased to say that we share a common belief in an eternal afterlife. Though our paths are somewhat different, we seem to meet at the same end. I know I will see my Anna Marie soon, and when I do, we will never be apart again.”

“For not being Catholic, your faith is very strong.”

“I missed the opportunity to be with my daughter in life – but I take comfort in knowing we will spend eternity together…reborn, as you say.” With that, Donald Templeton walked down the aisle and out of the church. Night was coming quickly and he still had much to prepare for the celebration.

He had been incredibly fortunate to reach his daughter before death had stolen her away. For vampires are not born, they are made. Dying in his arms, Donald had indeed given his daughter a final kiss – a vampire’s kiss. Not of goodbye, but of everlasting life.

Tonight, Anna Marie would enter her father’s house, and leave death behind forever.