Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Day 316: Because I could not stop

for Death, he kindly stopped for me. Somehow this Emily Dickinson poem always makes me think of dapper Death casually passing by in his carriage. Rarely is death so gentlemanly. When my husband's Aunt Jeana passed away, death was an end to long suffering and while not joyous in itself, was an end to her pain and a lengthy semi-comatose period. If we could have added healthy years to her life, we all would have gladly enjoyed her for many years, but more years of pain and drugs and confusion were all she had and death was a release from that half existence that wasn't the crazy, fun woman Jeana had always been. When death came for Grandma Nick, it was sudden but at the end of a very long and full life. We grieve for ourselves for missing these women, but celebrate their joyous reunion with God in heaven.

How are we supposed to feel when death comes more like a freight train barreling at a life barely begun.
This morning we heard the terrible news that a student from our high school had died. While official statements are still being withheld, it appears she was murdered by someone close to her. What kills me is that I walked past her last Friday, I thought to myself, "I'm too tired to stop to chat today." I wanted to talk to her, find out how things were going, but I didn't. I smiled and said hello, but a random thought crossed my mind to ask her about the young man today rumored to be the perpetrator. I didn't ask her, I didn't stop. I didn't tell her how much I liked her new hair cut or how I still worried about her.

I feel so responsible for not taking the time to spend with her. I don't know if stopping to talk to her would have meant anything, but she is one student that even though two years have passed since she was in my room daily, we still talked occasionally and I kind of paid special attention to her. She is one of those girls, and I see them every year, struggling with self-esteem and respect on a dangerous precipice. Sometimes they end up drinking or doing drugs, or dating the wrong boy or allowing themselves to be degraded by friends and boyfriends who don't value them and can't see the ruination of poor decisions. I see these borderline girls every year and try desperately to stretch out a life preserver, but my arms can't always reach into the abyss of their own creation or reach children who don't want, or know they need, saving.

Unfortunately, she is one of several students I have had die or be brutalized. Last year, I had a student kidnapped and raped, another attempted suicide. She is one I wrote about the other day. I have had students killed in car accidents, self-inflicted gun-shot wounds, drug overdoses, in alcohol related incidents, from disease. It always hurts. Sometimes the pain is the shock and sadness and overall unfairness. Sometimes the pain is from wondering what I didn't do, what I could have done. Today, I am again bombarded with this pain. 99% sure I could not have done anything, despite frequent conversations about choosing more carefully her friendships, this person remained in her life. But I could have at least stopped to talk to her.

Death sometimes sneaks up on us from behind, snatching at us unaware. Take the moments to care for and love the people in your life today, not having another chance feels pretty awful.

2 comments:

  1. Teachers are a caring lot by nature. I don't think you can be a teacher and not care. I hate to think of all the kids I've lost.

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  2. This tragedy has brought back all those other losses more acutely. Maybe I am getting more sentimental in my "old" age, but I realize more and more how fragile life is.

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