On Death and Dying
This week, it seems like death has been a topic on the forefront in my life. I don't even feel like I can say that without somehow having to face such tragedy myself.
When I was at Publix last night, I ran into the mom of one of my former students. I wasn't even a "real" teacher yet. This was about 7 years ago, when I was still a volunteer. That year, I spent much of my free time with a 3rd grade class. My wavering choice whether to become a teacher or not was decided by the experience I had with that class. The students were wonderful. They inspired me. Anyway, you know those times when you see someone you know and you sometimes say hi, while other times you are too busy? Well, last night I saw Josh's mom, and I said, "Hey! You're Josh's mom!" To which she replied, "Yes, how are you?" I have been amazed that she always remembers who I am. I told her I was doing well, and I asked her how Josh was doing. "He passed away." I was sure I didn't hear her right. "What?!" I thought maybe I'd mistaken what she said for her telling me how he passed the recent grade he was in. No. He died. She explained to me that he was diagnosed with leukemia, and he died 2 months shy of his 16th birthday. She could tell I was shocked, and she said, "I thought everyone knew. There were 1,000 people at his funeral." How did I not know? I explained to her that I don't watch the new...that with having a little girl at home it is too frightening to watch the news.
I didn't know what to say to her. She went on to tell me that he was himself all the while, as he fought cancer those 8 months. That wasn't surprising. He was one of my few favorite kids in the class. He was always happy to see me, and I always loved working with him. Spitfire, full of energy and smiles. I hugged his mom with tears in my eyes, and luckily I didn't fall apart in front of her. When a mom loses her baby, you don't get to cry.
It hurts. My little sister is 16. She goes to the same school as he did. She has always been at the same school as him. And he's gone. It just isn't fair. How do we get to be survivors? Why him? The death aspect of life just seems so unfair to me, and I don't know how to wrap my head around it.
Brandon emailed me to let me know that his good friend's father died of cancer over the weekend. He could face 6 months of a hard battle, or he could enjoy the time he had left. He spent his last day conscious with his family all around him, happy as can be. He's gone now. It just isn't right.
When I hear cancer, it almost has a numbing affect. My grandfather died of cancer, and yet I still feel nothing when I hear the word. Sometimes when you hear something so many times, it just doesn't hit you. This week, it hit me hard.
Someone very close to me, who will remain nameless for privacy, lost her cousin tragically last year. He was my age. He was a funny, spirited guy who was just so full of life.
I have been blessed to be able to keep the people I love in my life for so long and so close to me. I've watched both my brothers lose good friends to tragedy, and there is nothing anyone can say to take that pain away from them. I've lost pets, and I've lost my grandfather. When I was a little girl, our family's very close friend, Libby, got up one day, made a grocery list, and shot herself. When my mom told me she had to tell me something, I immediately asked her (at age 6) if she had cancer or dad had cancer. That was the worst imaginable scenario my mind could come up with. She explained to me that Libby had killed herself. Earlier in the day, she contacted my school to share with them the tragedy, and unbeknown to me, the counselors that came and talked to my class that day about death were really there for me. How incredible it was that my school and teachers could take the time to be proactive about discussing tragedy with my whole class in a broad way before I went home to have this news delivered to me. Libby was awesome. I loved her so much. All I remember now is her curly brown hair, her glasses, and her pretty long, red fingernails. She cross-stitched beautifully, and since she couldn't have children of her own, she treated me like a daughter. She spoiled me rotten with her time and her gifts. Anger was my emotion. Anger that she would leave me...because isn't that how a 6-year-old's mind thinks?
After that time, I have lost my great-grandmothers. I wasn't terribly close to either, but I did have a connection with my Grandma Millie, who was my paternal great-grandma. Denny, my mom's father, was her son and the glue that held their family together before his tragic death (see earlier post) in the 70s. She was a teacher, a literature lover. She is the reason the Hans Christian Anderson story The Little Match Girl has been passed down orally in our family. What a tragic, beautiful story about death. I got up at her funeral and shared my memories of her, long before she was overcome by her dementia. I am the only one of my siblings with memories of her before she was in the nursing home. Memories of her before she was delighted by the same infant toys as my baby sister. I read the story of The Little Match girl.
My class' hermit crabs, Pete and Pickles, died about a week after I brought them to school. I told them, honestly, what had happened. Some people thought I should just replace them and pretend nothing had happened. Death is a part of life, and I don't feel like sheltering children from it helps them. I think it does the opposite. Why not learn about death with something small, like a hermit crab or two, rather than have to learn about it by learning that your mom's best friend shot herself? To my mom, I have to give kudos. Kudos for being honest, for having the bravery to have the hard conversations with me. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
As I come here to an end that is messy and unfinished, I wonder why I wrote this blog at all. Death is something we all face in life, something most of us don't know how to talk about. But just because someone is gone doesn't mean that they aren't with us. We live on through the stories and memories of those we left behind. I hope those stories will be my legacy someday.
When I was at Publix last night, I ran into the mom of one of my former students. I wasn't even a "real" teacher yet. This was about 7 years ago, when I was still a volunteer. That year, I spent much of my free time with a 3rd grade class. My wavering choice whether to become a teacher or not was decided by the experience I had with that class. The students were wonderful. They inspired me. Anyway, you know those times when you see someone you know and you sometimes say hi, while other times you are too busy? Well, last night I saw Josh's mom, and I said, "Hey! You're Josh's mom!" To which she replied, "Yes, how are you?" I have been amazed that she always remembers who I am. I told her I was doing well, and I asked her how Josh was doing. "He passed away." I was sure I didn't hear her right. "What?!" I thought maybe I'd mistaken what she said for her telling me how he passed the recent grade he was in. No. He died. She explained to me that he was diagnosed with leukemia, and he died 2 months shy of his 16th birthday. She could tell I was shocked, and she said, "I thought everyone knew. There were 1,000 people at his funeral." How did I not know? I explained to her that I don't watch the new...that with having a little girl at home it is too frightening to watch the news.
I didn't know what to say to her. She went on to tell me that he was himself all the while, as he fought cancer those 8 months. That wasn't surprising. He was one of my few favorite kids in the class. He was always happy to see me, and I always loved working with him. Spitfire, full of energy and smiles. I hugged his mom with tears in my eyes, and luckily I didn't fall apart in front of her. When a mom loses her baby, you don't get to cry.
It hurts. My little sister is 16. She goes to the same school as he did. She has always been at the same school as him. And he's gone. It just isn't fair. How do we get to be survivors? Why him? The death aspect of life just seems so unfair to me, and I don't know how to wrap my head around it.
Brandon emailed me to let me know that his good friend's father died of cancer over the weekend. He could face 6 months of a hard battle, or he could enjoy the time he had left. He spent his last day conscious with his family all around him, happy as can be. He's gone now. It just isn't right.
When I hear cancer, it almost has a numbing affect. My grandfather died of cancer, and yet I still feel nothing when I hear the word. Sometimes when you hear something so many times, it just doesn't hit you. This week, it hit me hard.
Someone very close to me, who will remain nameless for privacy, lost her cousin tragically last year. He was my age. He was a funny, spirited guy who was just so full of life.
I have been blessed to be able to keep the people I love in my life for so long and so close to me. I've watched both my brothers lose good friends to tragedy, and there is nothing anyone can say to take that pain away from them. I've lost pets, and I've lost my grandfather. When I was a little girl, our family's very close friend, Libby, got up one day, made a grocery list, and shot herself. When my mom told me she had to tell me something, I immediately asked her (at age 6) if she had cancer or dad had cancer. That was the worst imaginable scenario my mind could come up with. She explained to me that Libby had killed herself. Earlier in the day, she contacted my school to share with them the tragedy, and unbeknown to me, the counselors that came and talked to my class that day about death were really there for me. How incredible it was that my school and teachers could take the time to be proactive about discussing tragedy with my whole class in a broad way before I went home to have this news delivered to me. Libby was awesome. I loved her so much. All I remember now is her curly brown hair, her glasses, and her pretty long, red fingernails. She cross-stitched beautifully, and since she couldn't have children of her own, she treated me like a daughter. She spoiled me rotten with her time and her gifts. Anger was my emotion. Anger that she would leave me...because isn't that how a 6-year-old's mind thinks?
After that time, I have lost my great-grandmothers. I wasn't terribly close to either, but I did have a connection with my Grandma Millie, who was my paternal great-grandma. Denny, my mom's father, was her son and the glue that held their family together before his tragic death (see earlier post) in the 70s. She was a teacher, a literature lover. She is the reason the Hans Christian Anderson story The Little Match Girl has been passed down orally in our family. What a tragic, beautiful story about death. I got up at her funeral and shared my memories of her, long before she was overcome by her dementia. I am the only one of my siblings with memories of her before she was in the nursing home. Memories of her before she was delighted by the same infant toys as my baby sister. I read the story of The Little Match girl.
My class' hermit crabs, Pete and Pickles, died about a week after I brought them to school. I told them, honestly, what had happened. Some people thought I should just replace them and pretend nothing had happened. Death is a part of life, and I don't feel like sheltering children from it helps them. I think it does the opposite. Why not learn about death with something small, like a hermit crab or two, rather than have to learn about it by learning that your mom's best friend shot herself? To my mom, I have to give kudos. Kudos for being honest, for having the bravery to have the hard conversations with me. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
As I come here to an end that is messy and unfinished, I wonder why I wrote this blog at all. Death is something we all face in life, something most of us don't know how to talk about. But just because someone is gone doesn't mean that they aren't with us. We live on through the stories and memories of those we left behind. I hope those stories will be my legacy someday.
Yes- we all face death but never willingly. We talk/write about it because we struggle to figure it out. I am a true believer that those we love are always with us. I try to comfort myself (lost my grandmother last week) by telling myself that they are at peace-no more pain and suffering and that one day I will see them again. Until I do, I (we) need to talk about the stories and write them-just as we hope people will have stories they will one day want to share about us.
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