by Greg Aunapu
While Sue now regrets having etched Amy's name into the tombstone, on the British producer's instructions, doing so did have one positive effect. Since Amy's disappearance, the searching mother had never been able to really live her life, or to accept the possibility that Amy no longer walked the earth. The sight of Amy's name written into the marble has provided the closure she needed.
Sue even hosted a memorial at her home, shortly after the documentary was filmed, which was attended by many of Amy's old friends, family friends—now some of Miami's most respected judges, lawyers, journalists, and musicians—something Sue never could have done earlier.
On-the-job reporters were barred from the party, but Sue, ever her warmhearted self—and grateful for how the media had kept the story alive for so long— couldn't bear seeing the camera crews broiling in the sun. She brought the news people cold drinks and said a few words into the cameras so they wouldn't have to leave empty-handed.
Far from a sad party, the memorial was cheerful, upbeat and even a triumphant moment for Sue. "I don't know if Amy would have been a star," she says. "It takes more than just talent to make it. But wonderful things were in store for her. She was a person who enjoyed life so much, she was awed by the sheer joy of being alive. I can feel some of that again."
The memorial was also a healing moment for the community. For the past twenty-five years, Amy's vanishing had haunted the streets of Coconut Grove, a mysterious, shadowy presence flitting just below the surface of conscious thought. How many times did drivers ponder her whereabouts whenever they crossed the intersection of Poinciana and Main Highway, where Amy was last seen? How many times did her friends do a double take when a doe-eyed, dark-haired girl crossed their peripheral vision, only to see it wasn't Amy? How often did a stray thought or word bring her image to mind?
Now, Sue can attend her granddaughters' school plays without weeping, and smile and laugh with the little girls who seem to have a bit of Amy's spirit in each of them. Sue has been elected a councilwoman for Coconut Grove, and holds positions on several City of Miami committees.
"I've had this hole in my heart for so long," Sue says. "It's not healed, it's not filled, it never will be. But, to mix metaphors, I feel the page has finally turned. I can get on with my life. I can now feel that Amy isn't out there somewhere praying for me to save her."
Amy certainly didn't live a long life. But you cannot measure a life in years, because each of us is destined to enjoy different amounts of time on Earth. But Amy described herself better than anybody else ever could just a couple of months before she disappeared.
HOW OLD AM I?
Yesterday was my 17th birthday. I have lived in this physical life for 17 years. That's all it means really.
I could say I am ageless, but that's too general. I feel different ages with each emotion. When I'm really happy, I feel young and gay. I could be 5 or 6 easily and just play. That's my free age where I haven't been conditioned too much yet by society and I can still feel good about being me and not caring what others may say or do. Innocence.
When I'm angry, I feel very tight and strong and frustrated. Like an old man that has had so many troubles and anxieties I don 't know what to do anymore.
When I'm lonely, I feel thousands of years old. Lost and forgotten.
Disappointed, I am a little girl who just dropped the whole scoop of ice-cream cone into the grating on the sewer.
When in physical pain, I feel young. When children are in pain, it doesn't hurt for long because they are still green and flexible.
Emotional pain makes me feel about 30 when I would have responsibilities and my own life by then. All I have is me anyway, but now I have my family still to fall back on. When I get older I'll have my own life and pain will be a heavier load to carry. Hopefully though, by then I will be more in touch with myself and will be able to deal with my pain better than I can now. Anyway, I'm working on it.
Different situations make me feel different ages, too.
At work, I feel important and older. Responsibility makes me feel older.
With my friends, who are all older than I am, I generally feel older than I really am. But with friends in separate situations I feel different ages. When I'm playing music, my flute and guitar, & singing with others, I feel absolutely ageless. I just float away and maybe I'm a fetus again in my mother's body or in-between past lives.
When I'm on the beach watching sunrise, I feel like I'm being reborn with the new born day.
Or sunset, I'm dying, yet it's a colorful and beautiful death. One to celebrate, not mourn…
Age is a strange word. Different ages have different connotations. Of course, any one of the feelings I've written on these pages could change with the wind, but it's just a general outlook, saying that perhaps it's more interesting to be different ages at different times.
Being one age is limiting and boring. I just want to be.
Amy Billig
January 10, 1974
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26 Photographs