Valerie Thurman and her daughter, Tiffany, work on patches and an album of photos of Roy Thurman, who was killed six years ago. Below, a badge with a black band marks the death of police officer Bryant Bayne last year. Photo by Ken Sakamoto, Star-Bulletin

ÒDaddy keeps hitting me,Ó Tiffany Thurman told her mother, Valerie. Upset, her mother scolded her, saying her father had never hit her. But the child persisted.

ÒDaddy keeps hitting me and hitting me and he won't stop,Ó Tiffany said. ÒMy dad is in my heart and he's hitting my heart and hitting my heart and it hurts, Mommy, it hurts so much and I miss him,Ó she cried.

The pain has lessened somewhat, but nearly six years later, the family continues to grieve. Mother and daughter are in Washington, D.C., this week for national Police Week activities.

More than two dozen people from Hawaii attended the national events, including family members of Officers Bryant Bayne and Tate Kahakai Ñ killed last July when a helicopter crashed during a rescue mission above Sacred Falls Ñ and members of the Honolulu Police Department's peer support unit.

They're expected to return tomorrow in time for a memorial service for fallen officers here.

On Oct. 10, 1990, Roy Thurman lost control of his motorcycle and crashed on Kalanianaole Highway after a car changed lanes in front of him. He died 10 days later.

Officer Roy Thurman

In the weeks following his death, Valerie Thurman and her daughter tried pretending he was simply working late and would be home later. Tiffany would often say she could hear her father's motorcycle. ÒHe's coming home, Daddy's home,Ó she would say.

But they couldn't pretend for long.

ÒI used to think a broken heart is a figure of speech Ñ but it really does happen,Ó said Thurman in a recent interview. ÒIt's very, very painful.

ÒI realized the little girl in the little body was going through the same pains and she had to go through it in order to heal. It was even more painful than the pain I was feeling.Ó

For Thurman, it began as an explosion in her chest that slowly spread. She would sit and rock, willing herself to breathe normally, trying to ease the ache that never seemed to go away.

Counseling for mother and daughter has helped.

So have friends who wouldn't take ÒnoÓ for an answer, Thurman said. But especially healing was the support from the national organization Concerns of Police Survivors, or COPS, she said.

It was at last year's Police Week activities, where she met with other police survivors, that she realized the life she and her daughter had carved out since her husband died was as normal as it would ever be.

Thurman, like many other survivors, had been hoping someday she would wake up and discover the painful events were a dream.

ÒBut it's really not a dream and it's not a test Ñ it is our life and what's happened is part of our history, our life,Ó Thurman said. ÒWe may not have him here, but no one can take away the memories that you have.Ó

Tiffany, who earlier had a difficult time playing with other children because she had no father, blossomed after meeting the children of other police survivors and listening to police officers talk about how special her father was.

It frustrates the girl, who was only 2 when her father died, that she remembers less and less of him as time passes. She constantly asks her mother what he was like. ÒEventually I will hear my daughter say not what she remembers, but ÔMy mother told me my father was ...,' Ó Thurman said. ÒIt's a difficult reality to accept.Ó

Meanwhile, Tiffany, who turns 8 in July, relies on the few memories she has of her father when he was alive.

Her daughter began asking for ÒDad's special sandwichÓ Ñ peanut butter with chocolate hazelnut spread and butter. She also rolls luncheon meat as a snack just like her husband used to, Thurman said.

She goes around singing ÒBad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do when they come for you, bad boys, bad boys,Ó Ñ the tune to the ÒCopsÓ show they'd often watch together.