Mission 5 Report - "187"
I came home from my bi-coastal weekend business trips (missions 2-4) to a world of mess. My students had acted pure-d fools (as grandmomma says) and I had to determine and distribute consequences. (It was almost enough to watch them slink into class Wednesday morning, throwing covert glances at me, waiting for me to blow. Almost...) It's a work in progress as they owe me 4.5 hours and I've only cashed in 45 minutes so far. But that was just the beginning.
I had an email from the security guard at the school I taught at for 4 years prior to my current position. It said he had sad news and wanted me to call him. Immediately I thought "Oh, goodness something's happened to one of the girls!" He has four girls, two of whom I taught in 8th grade. We became very close, both call me "Mom" and asked me to be in their Quinceaneras. The second daughter's Quinceanera ended up being cancelled and she has since had a baby (this past July). So I'm thinking "it's one of the girls or the new baby" when I pick up the phone to call. It was neither. One of my former students, currently a high school senior, had been shot and killed over the weekend.
I've been teaching six years and this is the second student I've lost. The first is actually on trial for murder. He is also 18 years old. If convicted he will most likely face the death penalty - being young, male and hispanic. But this is my first death. And I wonder how many more will I face before I retire in 20+ years. For the rest of the week, I received phone calls from other students in his class. Most of them separated when they went to high school, but they continued to keep in touch. Suddenly all of them wanted to talk to me. So I spent hours on the phone listening to different reactions and grief processes as I tried to understand my own reaction.
The funeral was today. A graveside service held at 11 am. Under the bright, warm (a smidge away from hot) Colorado sun, stood 50-75 teenagers. Football players - his teammates, big and buff for their ages, but wearing black suit jackets that were still two sizes too big. Their girlfriends, hair done up and sprayed like they were going to a dance, standing beside them ackwardly holding them as they all, eventually, broke down and cried. Parents, guardians, adults who knelt beside them when it became too much and they simply sat collapsed on the grass.
For the first half of the service I stood on the south side of the crowd and watched my students from across the casket. I watched aware they didn't realize I was there, and let them console each other as the eulogies were given. Before I approached them I had to make sure I was in control - able to hold them up. As the musical portion of the service began I made my way around to the north side toward my kids. I only made it half-way before one saw me and broke out in a near run. When I let her go, seven others were there waiting. I embraced each of them in turn then we stood under the tree - me in the middle of a tight, impromptu circle. Each one making sure they were at least close enough that, if we weren't touching, we could at least feel each other's body heat.
See the kid that died was my student, but he wasn't one of my children. I taught him (as well as his brother and sister) and we had a good relationship. I went to his baptism (he became saved in 8th grade along with his sister) and we talked about things other than school. But I didn't really take him into my heart. He was like a family friend - close, but not family. The seven who surrounded me today - Lilliana, Lydia, Ivan, Estella, Robert, Bridgette, and Ray - were my children. I love them like my own (at least that's what I imagine not having my own yet). And I kept thinking "Thank you, Jesus - it wasn't one of them" and "Oh God, they're so close - let them get out. Let them make it, Lord."
Today I watched my children release green and white balloons with messages for their friend written on them. Today I watched 18 doves (one for each year he lived) fly away as a symbol of his journey into eternal life. Today I told the one child living on the edge (Ivan) "Don't make me go through this with you." Today I watched one of my students lowered into the grave. And I wondered - how many more times will I have to witness this?
I had an email from the security guard at the school I taught at for 4 years prior to my current position. It said he had sad news and wanted me to call him. Immediately I thought "Oh, goodness something's happened to one of the girls!" He has four girls, two of whom I taught in 8th grade. We became very close, both call me "Mom" and asked me to be in their Quinceaneras. The second daughter's Quinceanera ended up being cancelled and she has since had a baby (this past July). So I'm thinking "it's one of the girls or the new baby" when I pick up the phone to call. It was neither. One of my former students, currently a high school senior, had been shot and killed over the weekend.
I've been teaching six years and this is the second student I've lost. The first is actually on trial for murder. He is also 18 years old. If convicted he will most likely face the death penalty - being young, male and hispanic. But this is my first death. And I wonder how many more will I face before I retire in 20+ years. For the rest of the week, I received phone calls from other students in his class. Most of them separated when they went to high school, but they continued to keep in touch. Suddenly all of them wanted to talk to me. So I spent hours on the phone listening to different reactions and grief processes as I tried to understand my own reaction.
The funeral was today. A graveside service held at 11 am. Under the bright, warm (a smidge away from hot) Colorado sun, stood 50-75 teenagers. Football players - his teammates, big and buff for their ages, but wearing black suit jackets that were still two sizes too big. Their girlfriends, hair done up and sprayed like they were going to a dance, standing beside them ackwardly holding them as they all, eventually, broke down and cried. Parents, guardians, adults who knelt beside them when it became too much and they simply sat collapsed on the grass.
For the first half of the service I stood on the south side of the crowd and watched my students from across the casket. I watched aware they didn't realize I was there, and let them console each other as the eulogies were given. Before I approached them I had to make sure I was in control - able to hold them up. As the musical portion of the service began I made my way around to the north side toward my kids. I only made it half-way before one saw me and broke out in a near run. When I let her go, seven others were there waiting. I embraced each of them in turn then we stood under the tree - me in the middle of a tight, impromptu circle. Each one making sure they were at least close enough that, if we weren't touching, we could at least feel each other's body heat.
See the kid that died was my student, but he wasn't one of my children. I taught him (as well as his brother and sister) and we had a good relationship. I went to his baptism (he became saved in 8th grade along with his sister) and we talked about things other than school. But I didn't really take him into my heart. He was like a family friend - close, but not family. The seven who surrounded me today - Lilliana, Lydia, Ivan, Estella, Robert, Bridgette, and Ray - were my children. I love them like my own (at least that's what I imagine not having my own yet). And I kept thinking "Thank you, Jesus - it wasn't one of them" and "Oh God, they're so close - let them get out. Let them make it, Lord."
Today I watched my children release green and white balloons with messages for their friend written on them. Today I watched 18 doves (one for each year he lived) fly away as a symbol of his journey into eternal life. Today I told the one child living on the edge (Ivan) "Don't make me go through this with you." Today I watched one of my students lowered into the grave. And I wondered - how many more times will I have to witness this?
"Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away into the next room. Whatever we were to each other, that we still are. Call me by my old familiar name. Speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference in your tone, wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Pray, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was, let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was: there is unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well."
-Harry Scott Holland, 1847-1915
Canon of Saint Paul's Cathedral
Mark Anthony David Johnsen
May 22, 1987 - September 25, 2005
*DDiva clearing her eyes first*
I so feel this post. I was a school teacher for 9 1/2 years and you do grow attached to them from day one when those smiling/crying faces walk into your classroom.
They crawl into your hearts and stay there some how. I am so sadden by this lost and pray that you won't have to witness anymore:)
Great post Girl:)
Be Blessed:)
Posted by
Didi Roby |
2:39 PM, October 02, 2005
I just returned from burying my grandmother so I can imagine what you're going through. I just hope that those children who were there realize that life is short and if their life isn't right they get it right as soon as possible.
Posted by
Organized Noise |
7:05 PM, October 02, 2005
Me and four of my friends started a non-profit org. in Detroit about 3 years ago to help at risk young black males. None of us are teachers, but we all felt like we bore the responsibility of this non-existent civility that is worsening by the minute. Teachers are the last line of defense against the tyranny of the ignorant. That's you, man! I'm extremely sorry for your loss. You are doing what you can to make where you are a better place to live. All we can ask is that you do that and anything else you can think of. We are counting on people like you.
KZ
Posted by
Knockout Zed |
9:02 PM, October 02, 2005
Wow that was heavy...I've lost several classmates and it is always shocking.
Posted by
NameLiar |
10:00 AM, October 03, 2005
*dabbing the tears*
I was once one of those students, getting consoled for having to bury my high school boyfriend. I think back to how comforting it was to have my classmates around, even though we were all a mess. Sadly, I don't recall any teachers, but my mind wasn't right by a long shot on that day.
I haven't had to bury any other CLOSE FRIENDS since that day and I don't look forward to it. But I am glad to know that teachers do care and exhibit that to their students in ways that we might not have imagined.
Thanks for sharing this wonderful post!
Peace and Blessings all ways ~ sj
Posted by
sj-the-infamous |
8:16 AM, October 07, 2005
I wish that you didn't have to go through this, but I know that you have the stregnth to lead the rest of your children to realize the potential of thier lives and do something with them.
This has to be hard, I only lost one schoolmate and it was recent. I'm creeping towards 20 years since high school. It still hurts, but I had an opportunity to live and understand a little on how this life thing works. You seem like the perfect protector and giude for these kids to interpret and inspire. Keep doing what you're doing.
Posted by
The Brown Blogger |
11:07 AM, October 07, 2005