Pass the Torch Tuesday

I am not always proud of how I handle death. I can get very self-centered, finding reminders of my loss at every turn. That's to be expected, to an extent, but I often wish I could be stronger, and provide better support to people who have more of a reason to fall apart than I do. During my final year of teaching, the year that showed me that teaching was not my calling, I had a student with cystic fibrosis. By the time she reached sixth grade, the disease had progressed to the point that it was very clear that she was living on borrowed time. Michelle was a frail child, but during the limited time that she was well enough to attend school, she was the heart of her class. This was a parochial school with one class at each grade level, so most of these students had been together since kindergarten. The year I taught them was my first year at this particular school, so the sounds of Michelle's barking cough were not as familiar to me as they were to her classmates. My heart broke a little every time I thought of how helpless I was to relieve her pain and struggles for air. In previous years, before her lungs were so full of mucous and her weight began to drop so much, Michelle had participated in all of the events the other kids did- her smile lit up the pictures of the softball games, Christmas plays and field trips. The year she was my student, she fought and fought to regain enough strength to be allowed to come to school for our Christmas program. The doctor gave her clearance, but it was only for one day, a Friday. The following Monday, she was back in bed. She never returned to class. Michelle was too weak to open her Christmas presents. She returned to Children's Hospital on December 26. She slipped away during Christmas break, and her funeral was scheduled for the day we returned to school in January. At the funeral home, her casket was surrounded by pictures of Michelle in happier and healthier times. The room where she was laid out was crowded, and although the students I saw were sad and reserved, I saw few tears. "Shelly made the most of when she was around," they told me, "and now at least we know she doesn't have to fight to breathe." The faculty and staff were on guard for any signs that the students needed help to deal with their loss. But, it seems that they had already gotten help- as she prepared herself for the end of her very short life, Michelle was also preparing her classmates. And I cannot express how proud I was of the maturity and dignity that this group of middle school students showed as they witnessed all too closely the circle of life.