Today I attended the funeral of a former student, who was in my fifth grade class four short years ago. It's only the second time I've attended an end of life celebration for a former student. Even though I attended today's Mass via Facebook Livestream, it was just as emotionally gut wrenching as the first.
Amos* passed away on the first Sunday of Advent, after fighting leukemia for over a year. I thought I was fine, that his death really didn't impact me because I had been outside of his community for the past three years. Even though I vividly remembered his bright smile and positive leadership as a ten/eleven year old, I felt on the outside. I hadn't been a part of the school and parish wide prayers for him or even known much about the progression of his illness.
Of course my former co-workers (who are once again my current co-workers) had told me when he was hospitalized and gave me sporadic updates. When I came back into the building for the first time after getting re-hired this summer, his class photos were in every room with the caption, "Praying for Amos*." I think that's when I started to feel "outside" of the ongoing community wide support system for him and his family. While I had been his fifth grade homeroom teacher, I had missed his seventh and eighth grade years and his illness had not been a part of my daily consciousness.
Listening to his mom and sister, who is also a former fifth grader of mine, and his classmates, all former students of mine, offer up words of remembrance brought memories of his fifth grade year flooding back. I have been off and on crying ever since. This young man had his whole life in front of him, and by all accounts it would have been an amazing life. He was a talented soccer player, a natural leader, a brilliant student, who sang with a strong, confident, clear voice.
I don't know how parents cope with the loss of a child. I am barely functional and I hadn't seen this kid for four years.
*Not his real name.
No comments:
Post a Comment