AN: I'm not dead, I swear. I'm totally screwing over homework to write this but it's definitely worth it.

This one-shot was inspired by Steve Irwin and his daughter Bindi. If you don't know who they are, shame on you. Go Google him.

And there's a certain song that is mentioned as starting to play at one point in the story, and it's really good if you listen to the song while reading that part. That being said, the link to the video of the song is in my profile.

Lastly, there are a lot of unspecified details in this story, and yes, I know it. So don't send me reviews asking how old someone is or how someone died...

Title: Love Throughout Time
Rating: K+
Author: MadiWillow
Summary: It's always hard to lose a father...
Genre: Tragedy
Chapter: OneShot

As I stand up on this stage, before the podium, a piece of paper twitching my shaking hands, I feel numb. I have no feeling whatsoever in my body. My insides are empty. You could light me on fire or chop off my limbs, and I still wouldn't be able to feel a thing. My father is gone – what's there to feel?

The numbness coursing through my body like blood dispels any other emotion that should be normal for people at times like this: anger at the fact that he had to go so soon; sadness after realizing that he will never be able to hold me in his arms after I've had a bad day or congratulate me for a good grade.

And fear. The fear that would normally be present in me as I stand in front of the nearly 18,000-strong crowd, with as many as seven TV cameras focused in on my face, is absent. It's gone. Needless to say, I feel like a completely different person without it.

Glancing quickly off-stage, I see my mother dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, my grandfather staring blankly ahead of him, his eyes unfocused. I'm the only family member speaking today; I have to do a good job.

I take a deep breath, steal another quick look at the first line of my speech, before looking back at the crowd and starting, in a strong voice, "My dad was my hero." My voice echoes throughout the large arena, and for a moment I wonder whose it really is. Whenever I used to hear my voice through microphones, or on TV, I would always cringe at the sound of it. Now, however, I would give anything to have that lively voice back instead of this dull one.

My silence goes on too long and the crowd starts to cheer encouragingly. I see a few signs that read "We Miss You Troy" and "Troy + Gabriella 4Ever". A couple people yell out, "We love you Melody!" in order to give me confidence.

I suck in another breath and continue. Leaning towards the microphone, I say, "I'm sure he was a lot of other people's hero too. He did wonders for people all around the world and for that I will miss him with all my heart."

I sniff. I try to do it quietly so the microphone doesn't pick it up, but do my dismay, the sniff is magnified a hundred times and heard by millions of people. I clear my throat. "But that's not all I'll miss him for. He wasn't just an amazing person, but also a wonderful father. When I was younger, I would always try and wait up for him whenever he worked late, many times falling asleep. Whenever I would fall asleep waiting for him, I'd always wake up to find a note on my desk that would say, 'I'm sorry I came home too late.' It always made me smile to know that he cared so much."

I gulp down tears and tell myself to keep composure. I will not let my family see how much I am hurting.

"When my dad first started SUPC, it was just a small past time. I don't think anyone knew it was going to be as successful as it became to be. I don't think it really hit him until kids from the Make a Wish Foundation started requesting to spend a day with my dad – that's when it really made sense to us that, whoa, he really is making a difference."

I blink rapidly. "My dad's whole life became these kids. After retiring from the NBA, he was constantly travelling around the world to set up camps for all of the underprivileged children to be able to play sports that they wouldn't normally be able to play. I know that he captured the hearts of so many people worldwide and, quite frankly, I don't know how."

A small, tense chuckle rippled through the crowd. I stared directly into a CNN camera as I started speaking again.

"Of course, what my father did was an amazing work of charity. Helping out kids is someone everyone should want to do. But so many people do it and how my father became so recognized is still a mystery to me... but I'm happy about it nonetheless."

I look back to my mother. She is now holding my younger brother in her arms as she cries. Sometimes I wish I was my brother, who, as an eight-year-old, doesn't know the full impact of death yet. In a few months, he'll understand.

I take another shaky breath and continue. "My father is now gone, but I promise to continue his work. I'm going to do everything I can to keep his dream alive; I owe it to him. He gave so much to me and the world, and I'm going to give some back to him. Two weeks ago, children all over the world lost their hero; their best friend. And today, I vow to keep their hopes up and give them everything my dad wanted them to have. Thank you."

I can no longer take it. As the crowd stands up and lets out a deafening cheer, sadness and dread suddenly crashes down onto my heart and I stumble over in my heels toward my mother. I collapse into her lap, sobbing uncontrollably. It's only the second time I've cried in front of her; the first being when I originally found out. I've been trying to stay strong, but I couldn't take it. I had to let it out.

The song "Only Time" by Enya starts to play on the arena speakers and I cry harder.

My mom stroke my hair as I cried. I could hear the crowd still cheering and am vaguely aware of the fact that they aren't close to stopping. My grandfather leans over and grumbles into my ear, "You did great up their, kid. I'm proud of you."

I sniffle and don't answer. My mom lifts up my head and brushes my tears away while my younger brother sits still next to her. "Melody, your dad would so proud of you today. I know I am." I nod tearfully and glance up at the large, blown-up picture of my dad that makes up the back of the stage. "It almost looked like he was watching you right during your speech," my mom tells me. Suddenly, a thought strikes me.

The crowd is still cheering for me; the longest cheer that has been given for any eulogy that night. I get up shakily and step back onto the stage and towards the podium, much to the surprise of everybody. The Enya song is abruptly cut off as the microphone is turned back on.

I lean into the microphone and say, "My dad wouldn't want us to be crying. He would want us to be celebrating his life, not grieving his death. So please, let's remember all the things my dad did to benefit the world and not forget to keep loving him. After all, we do love throughout time..."