As I "grow up," I am becoming more and more aware of what I value and respect and who I aspire to be. Since I am a teacher, you might not be surprised to know that I love people who love to think. I love students who want to soak in knowledge. I love students who take the time to filter through the rocks and dirt and come out on the other side with diamonds. A love of learning and a willingness to teach others are two qualities I greatly admire.
When this school year started, I realized something very fast. My two junior classes (B4 and S4) are collectively the best two junior classes I have taught. (Former students, please do not get mad at me...) From early on, I sensed an eagerness to participate, an appreciation of humor, and a legitimate interest in the material, at least more often than usual. I have caught myself bragging about my juniors quite a few times this year, and I am afraid of losing the sense of camaraderie that resides in both classes when the semester ends. Amidst the new faces I have met are some faces that I knew as freshmen. I thought I would not like having students at different stages of the game, but I now know that there is a joy that is attached to seeing a student grow up, to see him understand his own identity more clearly and often to see that student care about learning and success in a sincere and different way. Throughout this year, that joy has not been more abundant than when attached to thoughts of Thomas Imel.
Thomas was an average student as a freshman, seemingly smart enough to get by, but never putting forth more effort than necessary. He was inquisitive, but he was fairly sedate in class, so I never quite knew what was going on inside his head. Maybe I always unfairly assumed he didn't care too much about English, but my impression was that he wasn't living up to his potential.
When he walked into my room again as a junior, I expected the same. Nice kid. Has a sense of humor. Won't cause trouble. Will probably get a B or a B-.
I was wrong.
All year, Thomas did his work, and he did it well. All year, Thomas asked me questions that reflected deep thought on his part, and his ability to question and think became a welcome challenge to me and to the rest of the class. All year, Thomas voiced his opinions when he felt it necessary, but no matter if he was speaking, he was always there--always with me. Somehow, in a class of booming personalities, Thomas became a quiet leader. Without ever advertising for it, people started to look to him to offer his intelligent view on any particular subject. And yes, when the time was right, he certainly wasn't afraid to argue with Alex.
And when progress reports rolled around, and I got to tell Thomas that he had an A (I didn't tell him that he had the highest grade in the class), I asked him a simple question. "So, when did you decide that you were gonna start working?" His reply,"I work at something when it matters."
I didn't tell him, but that was the best complement I have received all year.
Actually, I didn't tell him any of this. I didn't tell him how much joy it gave me that he was working so hard. I didn't let him know that I was proud of him for becoming a student who I truly respect and admire. I didn't let him know that I thought his future was bound to be something special if he chose to embrace who I thought he could be. Really, all of these thoughts have crossed my mind over the last three months, but I never voiced them.
And now, as you may know, my opportunity is gone.
Last week, Thomas was in a serious car accident, and he has been struggling for his life ever since. Today, his struggle ceased. It is actually hard for me to write it, but today, Thomas died.
Again, we must learn how to cope with one of the toughest truths of life: death. Again, we must seek solace in our faith, in our friends and family, and in the hope that no matter how deep the pain sinks, joy will somehow surface again. Again, we must learn the sobering truth that we are only promised this moment, just this one, and how dare we take it for granted.
These lessons don't get easier. I am not an expert on dealing with death. I do know that I am here if you need to talk. I do know that moving on isn't an injustice, but it rarely happens overnight. Healing is a process as is grieving, and there is no rule book to help us do it faster or more easily or with fewer tears. I do know that life continues, and we all handle these times in different ways. It's okay. I stand before you (figuratively?) as a bumbling idiot, who doesn't really know what to think or feel or say, so, I will admit my inadequacy and do what I can to help. I do know that my best gift might be to give my students the sense of normalcy that we so crave in times like these. It is okay to smile in the midst of confusion and suffering, and so, laughter I will seek to share.
I challenge you to listen to his words. I challenge you to "work at what matters." I challenge you to challenge yourselves in all areas of your life. Dare to think. Dare to succeed. To tell people when they amaze you. To ask questions. To forgive. Dare to love. We waste so much of our lives worrying and whining and wasting, and it should not take a young person's death to make us realize that. Since I never spoke these words of encouragement to Thomas before he died, I couldn't function until I knew someone would hear them. My silence will be my own struggle, and God-willing, I won't make that mistake again. Thomas left an impact on my life in a way that I would not have expected. His death only makes what he meant to me in life more clear.
...Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
