this is what happens (to me) in high school when a student dies

First, I arrived to school late, and not even a little late, but 20 minutes late, as the entire staff was exiting the faculty meeting. Then I saw a teacher crying. Then I saw a student crying. Then I checked my email, which ties in thematically because my coping has existed in emails throughout the day, to Jenny and Christina, then to Phil:

7:25, To J & C:

So, one of my students died yesterday.

And I missed the meeting about it this morning, because I hit my alarm, and now I have no idea what's going on.

A boy from last trimester. The one that I consistently forgot to put in groups. And after we were in groups, I was like: Oh, Chris, you didn't get a group again? I'm sorry that I keep forgetting you.

7:30, to my mentor at school:

Hi Mandy,

I was late to school this morning and missed the faculty meeting--not a good day to make that mistake. Could you update me on anything I missed at the meeting?

I had Chris first trimester.

Thanks,

Jean

7:35, her response:

Jean,

Chris was hit head-on at an intersection. He was killed on the scene though they flew his body to HCMC in the cities. He was an organ donor and therefore his parents are still at the hospital. They may hold the funeral at the school.

I am so sorry--this is so horrible.

Please let me know if you need to talk to someone about this.

Mandy.

8:57, to Jenny and Christina:

It's weird. They called an assembly for teachers this morning, but I was late, and so I walked into a barrage of teachers leaving the faculty room. (The entire staff, of course, seeing I was late.) And one teacher was crying, and I was like whoa and then I saw some students crying, and then I came into my room and checked my email and there it was.

It is business as usual, and it's giving me a headache. No time to process everything, but having to deal with 100 students in my room today. The atmosphere is heavy, and the girls are crying and crying and boys are saying who was this kid I don't know who this kid was and then everyone tries to tie themselves to him in some way.

The principal came on the PA this morning and gave a brief message about it. It was awkward, and they offered counselors to kids who need a counselor. And then he ended the message awkwardly with: that's it. And then silence and then I had to say something to the 25 sets of eyes staring at me, so I said: take out your assignment.

I got the scoop from my mentor: he was hit head-on in a car accident yesterday (thank God it wasn't a suicide). He died on the scene, but was lifted to Minneapolis. He was an organ donor. So, I keep picturing my student all cut up and people running out of the room with his organs while his parents cry in the waiting room while I'm teaching today. I met his mom at conferences. We discussed where he should go to college. Could he handle it? Oh, yes, I'd said. I can't get these horrifying pictures out of my head even though I'm physically trying to shake them. Everyone is good when they die, but he really was one of the good ones. A special ed kid who worked ridiculously hard. I am an awful person because I gave him a C because it seemed to be what he'd deserved as a sped on his final essay--he was just a few points away from the B and I didn't bump him up. But then his special ed teacher called and said: Chris is just a few points away--what do you think? And I said: he works hard, let's give him the B. And she said: God, he's so happy! And we told Mom, and she's so happy.

Sorry. I just have to get this stuff out so I don't sit on it all day.

But, school goes on. It's finals week. Counselors are available.

9:05, to Phil, feeling like I need to keep talking about it:

One of my students died yesterday, Phil.

This isn't in the handbook.

I need a Philism. I'm coping poorly.

After his response, 9:20:

He was in a car accident yesterday, and apparently he died on the scene. I don't have him this trimester, fortunately, because I wouldn't be able to physically deal with the empty seat, but I do have seniors later (he was a senior) and I have no idea what to say to them.

That's the thing about the small district. Everybody knows everybody. Everyone's crying. Hm.
It's just so odd that when this happens, everyone ties themselves to the dead kid in some way. I knew him like this, I knew him like this. Like I can't stop thinking about the comments I gave him on his essays, and it's the most selfish thinking from anyone, ever. That sort of deal. Or did I say enough positive things to his mom at conferences? The kids must be thinking these things, too. How can one not be self-centered at a time like this, I suppose.

His following response, 10:00:

Thank goodness, I've never had to deal with the death of a student...just the thought of it makes me shudder. And I'm sorry I can't offer any comfort; I'd be in the same condition--feeling dumbstruck, guilty, awkward, and at-a-loss for what to say and do.

I think the notion of having the funeral at school is a great idea. Eight or nine years ago, a Century teacher was killed in a car accident and his funeral was held here (as he was single and entirely devoted to teaching). It was the perfect opportunity for people to grieve together; it was cathartic.

My response, 10:35:

No, no, this is comfort.

The seniors were as they always are. I am sort of surprised at their resilience.

I imagine that if I died while I was a teacher, that I'd have my funeral at the school. And then I'd make them bury me beneath the cafeteria so I could haunt students. (I make jokes, sometimes, in tragedy.) The menu could be: ham-boo-ger on a bun.

*

Anyway, the people who I email throughout the day get me through the day. It's probably a full-time job for Jenny and Christina to get me through some of these days I have.

But, I guess, to expand on the idea: today I realized that nothing brings out the selfishness in someone than the death of someone they know, but who isn't entirely close to them. Chris died. I thought of how I knew him, what he thought of me as his teacher. Yes, yes, I thought of how those closer to him were grieving, I thought of his mother, with her short hair and her big smile and her immense love for her son which was clear even 5 minutes into our conference last October--how we discussed what he could handle as a writer if he went to Community College, Ridgewater in the fall of 2010, how we were both so excited about his maturity, how he knew what was best for him, what he could handle. During that conference, I remember imagining the conversations that he and his mother must have had at home. It was hard to imagine, since he was so shy in class, always. I liked to imagine him talking.

I thought of how I wrote expand here on one of his journals and he took it literally, wrote more on the paper and then handed it back into me--and I remember thinking then that it was such a cute thing to do--but I don't remember who he wrote about as his hero on his hero essay, and I don't remember his proposal, and I don't remember what he wrote about himself on his college essay. A trip, perhaps? I remember that I forgot, for some odd reason, to put him in assigned groups two times in class, that after I called out all of the students' names that he'd look at me with this sad look in his eyes at being forgotten the first time; and I remember all of my apologies, and I remember that we both sort of laughed about it when I forgot him the second time, how I apologized again, how I said I don't know why that happens. I remember thinking that I'd graded him sort of easy throughout the trimester, so when he got a C as his final grade and was a couple of points from a B I didn't just bump him up. I remember having this debate about his grade in my head for a solid five minutes. I'd had this debate exactly a trimester ago, today, during finals week.

And I remember his special education teacher sending me the email, after Chris had probably asked her to, and I remember that she said he'd be so happy with the B. He'd never gotten a B in English before. I remember feeling stupid and cruel and horrible for taking that from him, that B. But, perhaps, all the better to get the compliment from me at the end about his hard work. He didn't know I debated it for 5 minutes. All he knew was that I bumped him, that I thought he was a hard worker.

He was one of the only students in my class to go to the Romeo & Juliet performance in January, after our English class was over. One of the two with enough motivation to go on a Saturday.

When I think of him, I picture his handwriting first. The right slant, the smudges of pencil. And now I can only imagine his organs in coolers. I don't know why. I think it's just the idea of them having to get the organs so fast, perhaps. Parents find out kid is dead. Parents have to drive to Minneapolis. Parents probably don't get to see their son before parts of him are taken. What does a body look like without the organs inside? How does the head sit on the neck of the organless body? Why is this what I think of?

Why is death such a remorseless bastard. What sound did the car make? What does it look like now? Did it hurt him? Did he see it coming? What did he say? What was his last thought? I really liked this kid, and I would've said this if none of this had happened. He worked so hard. It's hard to find people who work hard.

I have nothing profound or literary or normal to say about any of this. But the high-school-death-day is such a dramatic, intense situation. Annoucements over the PA. Rumors and stories. Some kids crying. Some kids acting like nothing happened. Girls crying who just like to find themselves wrapped up in drama. Girls who used to date him. The kid in Tessa's class, the one who Chris was driving to see yesterday, who found himself in school this morning, looking as though he'd been ripped in half. My seniors who said nothing. My senior who said: I better give you this today instead of waiting until Thursday. And when I sad, don't trust yourself, eh? Said: oh, well, you never know if I won't be in school on Thursday...could die or something. And how we both just pretended he hadn't accidentally said that.

Yes. Death brings out the selfishness in people. How does this affect me. How will I go on. Why am I feeling and thinking what I do right now. Did this really happen? Doesn't everybody die all the time? Didn't 800 people just die in Chile? Will I ever learn how to deal with death? Yeah. Probably not. Probably hopefully not. I am shit at death.

But what else would it bring out other than the selfishness in people? What other purpose could it serve than to make people reflect on who they've changed, how they cope, who they are. What other purpose could it serve to just make you hate death and everything he takes, so selfishly himself, just like you in your selfishness alongside.