begin again again

Upon returning from the holiday vacation, it took a mere six hours for a student to break down into a tantrum, kicking his project across the room, spewing expletives (including one specifically meant for me) while he stomped out the door.  I could hear him kicking and punching lockers as he made his way down the hall.  I had done my best to remain calm during this display and told my students as it happened not to worry, but I was worried and a little broken-hearted to have the fresh start so quickly kicked to shit, to put it bluntly.  Fortunately, I have the kind of administration who won't automatically blame me and agree with the young man in his assessment, and for that I am extremely grateful.  I have heard enough horror stories from colleagues in other schools to know the variety of other possibilities.

The authentically difficult part of the new year came in the form an email I received this morning.

As most of you heard, Stella's father passed away over the holiday break.  Services were held December 22. 

Stella's father committed suicide - hanging himself at home the week before Christmas.  Stella's uncle (her dad's brother) committed suicide in 2006.

Please use this info to best handle any interaction.  We will be setting up counseling sessions through the office.

Thank you.

There is an obvious response, a collective gasp. Twice in one family?  What cruelty of fate or destiny is this? I realize Tantrum Boy can't really ruin any day in my small life. Then there is really nothing fresh to be said about suicide.  It's a dark, ugly thing that doesn't deserve sentimentality.  My first experience with it as a teacher came eight weeks into student teaching with a freshman who also hung himself.  He went home one day after a fight at school and quit living.  He was tall, lanky, a little abnormal, with a loose smile and a big head.  He had longish chocolate hair and an uneven gait.  He had been an odd kid and he had no doubt lived a difficult life, but he was sweet and the classmates I had taught found themselves equally struggling in the Land of Misfits.  They seemed to appreciate him.  I remember him clearly, and his mother too, and I feel as bewildered for him now as I did then.  The class was mystified, silent, stymied.  They were clumsy with it, as we all are. 

I heard a radio personality the night Kurt Cobain died announce, "Welcome to the Stupid Club."  It surely is tempting to dismiss such a needless act as so much selfishness.  I look at Stella and feel angry for her (and who am I to feel it?)  Yet the compassionate response to suicide (beyond the obvious comforting of survivors) is to recognize the pain that drives a being to destroy itself.  It is an unnatural act that goes against the laws of nature.  Those who have not struggled with serious mental health issues have only to thank God that they can not understand such a pain, that it does in fact seem stupid.  The compassionate response is to ask oneself, "Am I listening?"  Am I really listening to the people who are really talking to me today?  Is there someone in my life who has been trying to tell me something?  If one of my friends said he was dealing with depression, how would I respond?  Do I allow others near me to experience and express emotional pain?  These are questions more worthy of our reflection than all the second-guessing to which we are bound.



*Names and details in the bloggety blog are always changed to protect the identity of others.