Sad Tidings
December is usually a time of joyous tidings and merry memories and all of that, and I love Christmastime, I really do; but this year all of that happiness, even being able to finally give Thomas his surprise, is tempered with a little bit of grief. On December 4th one of our students wrapped a plastic bag around his head and committed suicide. Now, I don't know what people's general impressions of me are, but I love my students. Yes, I want tenure, and yes I enjoy my job and its' security, and yes it would be great to be fabulously wealthy or live forever or have my name go down in history; but all of that pales in comparison to the basic necessity of having happy, healthy, successful students. I'm not having children of my own, but that's okay because I get 65 new children every four years. And now I have 64, and the loss of that one is felt and experienced anew even as busy as we are.
I've experienced various kinds of mortal partings, if you will, and some of them were relatives and some of them were friends, and some of them were people whose deaths have stuck with me because, you know, when two of the three people you interact with on a weekly basis get gunned down by a madmen in a classroom their absence is all the more palpable because it seems unreal and momentous. My Paw-paw's death last year came at the end of a long period of suffering and preparation, and that was the nearest person to me to ever die; and yet that grief, while it racked me relentlessly for a few days, is entirely different from how I feel now. An old man dying of cancer at home surrounded by loved ones, is a world away from the sudden shock of a 22 year old who doesn't believe that anyone loves him enough to keep him alive.
Oh, I know that there is no point in asking questions like "Could I have prevented it? What could we have done? What didn't I see? Why didn't I say anything?" And when a former colleague chimed in with a comment about our program and how we've had two attempted suicides and one successful one in the last two years, I shut him down. Fitz's own roommates and close friends didn't even know he was in crisis despite spending time with him just hours before. We just can't afford to focus on those questions.
So we experience the grief, and for a lot of my babies (for so they are to me) this is their first close experience with the process, and it will take time. I held them and let them sob, talked them into support groups, spoke at the vigil, and observed the transition from tears to stories to laughter to resolve. I privately did the same, and much faster than I thought I would maybe because I accepted from the beginning that it would be hard and need to happen in it's own time. I think I'm done with tears, and in time for Christmas too, but I can't guarantee that I'll be stoic when they pray for the deceased or those who have lost loved ones, thinking of Fitz's family and their missing member this year. I can't guarantee that I won't think of it every year.
And with this sense of sadness and wonder and loss there is anger too, and a small amount of understanding. I want him back so I can shake him and say "Stupid, stupid, stupid thing to have done! What made you think this was any kind of answer?!" But I remember being the same. Given the way my life has turned around, and a greater understanding of how to combat depression and mood disorders, I can look back now and know that 22 is way too young to know that anything will last unchanged; even the bleakest things. Just like him, I didn't know either.
I've given a bunch of Incompletes this year to students who were close to him and just couldn't cope with the end of the semester and their final projects. I too have found it hard to focus at times. We will watch them closely in the months to come, all of our children who think that they are adults and that they can see clearly the good and the bad in life that is coming. I think the hard part won't be caring for them, it will be in not letting every painful event, every loss, create scar tissue that blocks sensation. To remain vulnerable, to remain empathetic, to accept grief and know that you can ask all of the questions, but you can't expect answers. To understand that it will be the rare student who can share this perspective, and to be glad for that. I've had to say to myself a lot in the past decade that we choose how we think, and I think that the only useful thing is to choose to use this as a force for good. Even that small thing, just having it propel us towards a life of commitment and focus and energy and love, will be a small victory over the darkness of the mind which took him and threatens us all.
I've experienced various kinds of mortal partings, if you will, and some of them were relatives and some of them were friends, and some of them were people whose deaths have stuck with me because, you know, when two of the three people you interact with on a weekly basis get gunned down by a madmen in a classroom their absence is all the more palpable because it seems unreal and momentous. My Paw-paw's death last year came at the end of a long period of suffering and preparation, and that was the nearest person to me to ever die; and yet that grief, while it racked me relentlessly for a few days, is entirely different from how I feel now. An old man dying of cancer at home surrounded by loved ones, is a world away from the sudden shock of a 22 year old who doesn't believe that anyone loves him enough to keep him alive.
Oh, I know that there is no point in asking questions like "Could I have prevented it? What could we have done? What didn't I see? Why didn't I say anything?" And when a former colleague chimed in with a comment about our program and how we've had two attempted suicides and one successful one in the last two years, I shut him down. Fitz's own roommates and close friends didn't even know he was in crisis despite spending time with him just hours before. We just can't afford to focus on those questions.
So we experience the grief, and for a lot of my babies (for so they are to me) this is their first close experience with the process, and it will take time. I held them and let them sob, talked them into support groups, spoke at the vigil, and observed the transition from tears to stories to laughter to resolve. I privately did the same, and much faster than I thought I would maybe because I accepted from the beginning that it would be hard and need to happen in it's own time. I think I'm done with tears, and in time for Christmas too, but I can't guarantee that I'll be stoic when they pray for the deceased or those who have lost loved ones, thinking of Fitz's family and their missing member this year. I can't guarantee that I won't think of it every year.
And with this sense of sadness and wonder and loss there is anger too, and a small amount of understanding. I want him back so I can shake him and say "Stupid, stupid, stupid thing to have done! What made you think this was any kind of answer?!" But I remember being the same. Given the way my life has turned around, and a greater understanding of how to combat depression and mood disorders, I can look back now and know that 22 is way too young to know that anything will last unchanged; even the bleakest things. Just like him, I didn't know either.
I've given a bunch of Incompletes this year to students who were close to him and just couldn't cope with the end of the semester and their final projects. I too have found it hard to focus at times. We will watch them closely in the months to come, all of our children who think that they are adults and that they can see clearly the good and the bad in life that is coming. I think the hard part won't be caring for them, it will be in not letting every painful event, every loss, create scar tissue that blocks sensation. To remain vulnerable, to remain empathetic, to accept grief and know that you can ask all of the questions, but you can't expect answers. To understand that it will be the rare student who can share this perspective, and to be glad for that. I've had to say to myself a lot in the past decade that we choose how we think, and I think that the only useful thing is to choose to use this as a force for good. Even that small thing, just having it propel us towards a life of commitment and focus and energy and love, will be a small victory over the darkness of the mind which took him and threatens us all.