obituaries

In California, people display elaborate calligraphy decals "In memory of ..." on the back of their windows. Usually with dates: 2002-2006 or 1992-2004.

Our school suffered through the mourning process of our third student death today.

Last night at 8:33 a car driving five blocks north of my classroom fired shots at a group of people standing outside. An eighth-grade-boy was hit five times and pronounced dead at the hospital. His best friend, my student, was shot in the arm.

The school learned about the death early this morning. The principal pulled me aside to tell me and let me know the school psychologist and "community liaison" were going on a home visit to check up on the latter student. He had been suspended for five days (an after school fight on Friday), so we didn't expect him to be coming to school any time soon. Apparently the first boy had also been at the fight but didn't jump in. He'd told the principal last week that he wanted to stay out of trouble. The principal had a heart-to-heart with him, agreed to suspend him for only one day, and his last words to this boy had been "I'm proud of you for not getting involved. I don't want you to get killed."

What kind of place is this where a line like that is not a figure of speech?

When I taught in the land of milk and honey, it was a common writing assignment to create your own obituary. Death happens everywhere, though, and whether it was a car accident or leukemia, we suffered through the funerals of students there, too.

During the last period of school, a student of mine complained "I have to go to the bathroom so bad! If you don't let me go right now, I'm going to kill myself. I mean it. How would you feel then?" This was the kid who'd had bloodshot eyes all day, who wasn't wearing red for the first time in weeks--he was wearing black. He was one of the many friends of the boys who'd been shot, and he walks down that street on the way to school each day.

I paused. After a few moments had passed and the others were occupied, I leaned down next to his chair and told him that I would feel absolutely terrible. I said that suicide is a serious topic. I've lost people in my life who killed themselves, and I don't want it to happen again. I told him I didn't want to hear him joke about it or say it just to get my attention. Then I said what every teacher wishes they had said to every student who's ever died: "I care about you. I want you to be safe." He actually smiled and nodded. "I know."