David Aggio has been gone almost three months now, gone somewhere his daughter can't see him, can't hug him. But Kayla can still feel him, still feel him coursing through her consciousness, influencing her waking thoughts and she'll be darned if she's going to let that go.
So Kayla texts her dad, sometimes once a day, for weeks on end. Won't be anything sensational. Just a hello. Other times she'll call David up, leaving a message she knows won't be returned. Nothing specific to say. It just feels good, you know, to say hi. It's what kids do, the ones who have been made to feel safe and secure inside that parent bubble.
"Hi, Prid. It's daddy. I love you and good luck at your tourney this weekend. I'll be praying for you."
Kayla listens to a lot of David's voice messages that are on her cell phone but that one gets the most ear time. "Prid" was what he called her ever since Kayla can remember. "Prid" evolved from "Pretty." To hear his voice, it's like David is right next to her, walking with her, every step, which is how it was.
"He may have been the only person who never ever gave up on me," said Aggio, a 2012 Rancho Cotate graduate. "He loved me unconditionally. He taught me how to love, how to have faith."
David taught Kayla not everyone can climb over and above defeat. Anyone can quit. That's easy. But finding a way out of the tunnel, to find the light, well, one will need a spine for that. There will be some bruising along the way. The past seven months have bruised her.
"It's been the worst time of my life and it's been the best time," she said.
Kayla lost a woman she held dear to her heart, her great grandmother, last November. In December, partially from wrestling burnout, she nearly became academically ineligible at Oklahoma City University, having failed to pass a one-unit class; she made that unit up. Around that time, she and her boyfriend broke off their serious relationship. And then came March 8, when David was killed in a car accident in Bakersfield.