leprechauns and plastic flowers

I hate that I have to write another post like this. I hope, without much hope, that this will be the last one ever. On Thursday afternoon I lost another student to suicide. It was completely unexpected, at least by me. He was the embodiment of mischief, a small guy, very athletic, with an impish grin that both got him out of trouble and showed how much trouble he was capable of. He was popular with his classmates and involved in all sorts of activities. I feel like someone ripped a bright patch out of a favourite quilt, and I still can't believe I'll never see that grin after telling him to get to class, already.

Something was stolen from all of us. This death is harder in some ways than the last. It was very immediate: we were with this boy at school in the afternoon awards assembly. A stray puppy ran in the open door and climbed onto his back while he lay on the floor. We all laughed - he laughed, his friends, the teachers, everyone! One hour he was laughing at the puppy, an hour later he was dead. It makes me feel powerless, because if laughing with a kid can't prevent him taking his own life, what can? Whenever someone turns their violence inward in this way, we all lose our innocence. It is so meaningless, so senseless, so traumatic.

It has made me re-evaluate what it is that I do here. Somehow I've become part of this community and, though it is temporary, I want to make the most of whatever shreds of influence I might carry. I want to be a more compassionate teacher; I want to be tough, and have high expectations and move through the curriculum, but I also want to take that extra 3 seconds to really look at a kid when they ask a question and try to understand what's behind it. I don't think I could care more about them than I already do, but I think perhaps I could show that care more.

I've been roaming around
always looking down at all I see