Teacher school prepared me for many aspects of my career, but one area where I wasn't adequately prepared was on the loss of a student.
I still remember my first student who died in a horrific car accident; Brooke was 16 years old. I cried for weeks after her death; it seemed so senseless. Non-teachers don't quite understand the bond between a student and a teacher, and when a student passes away, it's devastating.
This morning, I opened my Facebook account and found out I lost a student to a gun. I sat there, stunned. Less than a week ago, he was in my room, asking to go to the library, and now he is dead.
He is my son's age.
He is also the second of my students to die in 2016.
I lost a student to suicide earlier this year.
I spend eight hours a day, five days a week, 10 months a year with teens, and each one has a piece of my heart. When one of my students dies, a part of my heart dies. I don't know quite how to describe it to non-teachers. I can still see Brooke's beautiful smile and laughing eyes. I can see Sean's blue eyes and heavy silver chain. I see Nathaniel dancing into my room, singing an 80s song. Leah dressing up differently each day. Josh--so tired he couldn't function--sleeping in study hall.
The potential, gone forever.
I think about my students' families and say a prayer for them.
Although teaching has joy-filled times, there is far more pain in it than I expected. But the loss of a student, well, that's a pain I'm ill-equipped to cope with.
