A story I had to share...
As per usual, I was at the school about an hour before classes were supposed to begin. Only a few students had arrived, most of them unaware of what happened less than a day ago. I walked from the bus stop, head down, trying not to scuff my shoes as I walked in the front doors. The doors seemed heavier today, as they heaved open with the press of my weight on the handle. I got up the stairs, noticing that my backpack felt much more full than usual, but I knew in the back of my mind it was just because it was today. Monday. Still April, the month of showers... but just barely. It's the last day of the month.
I followed the same routine I always do... up the stairs and into my prep room/office. Bags (two of them) slung off my shoulders and onto the floor by my chaotic work station. I'm not the most tidy guy, but you already knew that. I set up my computer and for a few moments, stared blankly at the screen before hitting the power button. I don't usually just stare, unless I had a restless sleep, but even then, it's bried. This one lasted longer. Again, I knew it was just a side-effect of today.A few emails were checked, others were sent, still others were ignored. I felt okay but a sense of apprehension had been growing inside me all morning. My coffee was sweet and creamy, with the remnants of steam rising from the surface of the liquid. It tasted as it usually did... I love (and need) my morning coffee, but my stomach didn't seem to have the same affection for it. I just hoped the feeling would pass. I caught myself staring at the mug, senselessly avoiding the work that was piled before me. I purposely left it for the weekend, since I knew I was going to be coaching all day Saturday and Sunday. But today it would remain where it was. Dust wouldn't gather for weeks.
I could hear the clicking of footsteps on the floor as someone approached the door. I wanted to guard it, lock it, keep myself inside. Why would I want to see people? I just wanted everyone to leave. Yet, the absurdity of this sentiment collided strongly with the desire to talk to someone, anyone. The feelings did not contradict each other... they strangely agreed. D walked in, asking if I'd received the message from our principal last night. I replied with a nod, but little else. My eyes were fixed on her to see how she was feeling, how she was coping. She's a rock, I thought. Strong, fully ready to cope. I knew this was rubbish, but it was the first response that came into my head nonetheless. I could see some reaction in her, but for my sake she was keeping it together. I couldn't. I thought I got it all out last night, but I didn't. The tears came back, but I knew they were allowed. Today, anyway. Maybe not always, but definitely today.
I had just started to feel better. Then L showed up, noticing that I was obviously upset. Then G, then others. I told the story for those who didn't know. I did my best to get it out. Then people kept going about their days. After a bit of alone time, I was feeling a bit better.
The announcement came over the P.A. I knew about the meeting already, so I went and washed my face so I could meet the rest of the staff downstairs in the main staff room. As I stared into the mirror, I laughed... I'm not the most dashing man when I have eyes full of saline. It was brief laugh, but it was a laugh all the same. After towelling off my face, I made the walk downstairs and down the hall to the staff room. Most people were already there. Some were talking in hushed whispers while others were uncertain what the meeting was about. Our principal walked in with some strangers in tow, and addressed the group. "Sorry to meet you on the Monday morning with this sort of news..." His voice started getting more and more faint, like an echo. Maybe it just seemed that way to me. Still, I knew what was coming. "...the student was killed after being hit by a vehicle on the highway yesterday morning." The man with the crisis intervention team took the floor. I began counting the number of tiles on the floor. The pattern was regular. Predictable. I glanced up periodically to find at least a few pairs of eyes on me. "For those of you who didn't teach or know this student, we're passing around a picture..." It began across the room. The black-and-white travelled from hand to hand, quickly and efficiently, but respectfully at the same time. It came around closer to me... I was leaning on the door frame, as far away from the nucleus of people as possible.Then I caught a glimpse. It was obviously his school photo... his blond hair was short and simple, and his smile was surprisingly large. I know so many kids who just purse their lips or try to look cool. I remember years when I did the same. But I couldn't take my eyes off the picture. It kept transferring from one set of hands to another, slowly approaching, creeping. I turned sharply when it came to within about five feet. I tried to be subtle when I left, but when you exit a staff meeting in the middle of something like this, subtlety is the last thing you can achieve. I had to get out, if only for a moment. Things just got too big, like an older brother who sits on your chest waiting for you to say uncle or tap out.
Still, people were there. Helping. Hugging. Consoling. I'm not the only one who lost a student today. Why, then, did it feel like it? But the staff were good to me. "You're just a baby", one said affectionately. I think she might have been right.
I was at home when I received the news Sunday night. The call came later that night. 10:30'ish. I was on the phone with a friend living in the lower mainland, and we were catching up on all the things that have happened over the past few weeks... coaching, teaching, goofing off, etc. She was excited, since she just landed a contract for the last 2 months of the year at a school she loves and where she did her practicum last year. Then the phone beeped... I saw the name of my principal on the caller ID and instantly got nervous. "Why is he calling on a Sunday night?" I asked myself. Why was he calling at all? I picked up. He apologized for calling late and potentially ruining my Sunday night. Then he gave me the news. I was stunned and didn't really know how to react (or even believe it was real), and before I even realized, I had hung up. After clicking over to my friend, I said I had to go. I hung up again. The tears came uncontrollably. I woke K and told her the news. And I cried some more. She cried with me. Then came the numbness. Later, some sort of sleep arrived, but I was so restless before that happened that I got up for a few hours of TV before trying to get back to bed.
There's a TOC in my class right now. It's one of my other grade 11 classes. I just don't think I could handle it, being there, facing them. Even now, a headache is starting to press on my forehead, not willing to just disappear into a memory. How do you prepare for this? What does teacher training do to get us ready for losing a student? Very little, I know. The rest of the coping is equally as uncertain. I'm not sure if there's ever any preparation you can do. This was one of the school's students. My students. And he's gone. It seems like a definitive statement. But in reality, it's all questions.
- TM
posted by Dimsumthing @ 8:09 AM
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