I received horrible news recently. Friday, at 3:08 pm to be exact. A friend called to tell me that one of my former speech students had committed suicide the day before.
It was surreal. I was running a little late that day, so I was walking into the high school just as all of the students were pouring out. It was such a strange moment. I was instantly in this weird space of being an island of sepration from this river of tremendous, alive, energy.
If you have never walked against the current of a bunch of teenagers leaving school on a Friday afternoon, I don’t know if I can even begin to adequately describe the energy level of that rush of kids. They are pumped. I heard snippets of conversations about the snow week dance that night, an Axemen game, hockey, parties, people. The energy of these kids was just rushing past me.
And I stood there, separate, with this image of the girl who had died. It seems like yesterday I walked in that school to see her at speech practice. I had this perfect image of her sitting on a desk on her script, swinging her legs, grinning, informing us that she was working on memorizing her poetry through butt osmosis.
Earlier this year, a student with ASD I was working with told me her neighbor had committed suicide because “his heart was so sad he couldn’t stay here anymore.” That is perhaps the most succinct and least patronizing explanation of suicide I have ever heard. So that is what I think.
Her heart was so sad she couldn’t stay here anymore.
But it still sucks.
I see so much brilliant light, energy, and beauty in these kids. I wish they could see it in themselves. Maybe sometimes they can. I hope so.
The end of this Erik Ott poem has been running through my head:
Most people in this world probably didn’t even realize their loss. And I feel sorriest of all for those people — you — those of you who never had the chance to meet her. She was that cool. The last sentence in this poem is how I will remember her: This world is a better place for having her in it even if it was only for twenty years.
For more about Erik Ott, check out his online bookcase.
Seeking Knowledge... 