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captainsblogEmily asked her Mom for a ride home from school today. I wound up having to take a deposit to the bank two blocks away at around the end of the school day, so I did the pickup, and found out what the issue was:
A kid in the grade ahead of her, who was president of her HS art club last year (note: Emily is president of her HS art club this year), died in ECMC over the weekend, after hanging himself.
By all accounts, Matt was a brilliant, talented and loved individual. There must be more to the story than that, but it's a part we'll now never completely know, and that finality is as sad and as troubling as any other I can relate to without knowing much of it.
His funeral is tomorrow. His art teacher (also Emily's mentor most of these past four years) had to struggle through the workday today, and had to argue her way into getting a full day off tomorrow (the principal wanted to limit her time to half a day since, hey, the funeral's not until 12:30, so why couldn't she work the first four periods, huh).
I can't put Em's current feelings, much less Matt's, into any kind of meaningful perspective, but this is about as close as I can come: Cornell was a pretty intense place when I was there (and likely is even more so now, since it costs about 20 times more to go there), and suicides were anything but rare. So much so, the administration put high fences over several of the more popular bridges in my years there.
Only one of the many in those four years still sticks with me. Her name, like my now-departed oldest sister, was Sandy, and she went home for a weekend sometime in our freshman year that she never returned from. She was one of 200-odd freshmen, 50-ish of them women, in my first-year dorm, and I'd met her maybe twice, never significantly, but I knew her name from some early-semester mixers and such. Still, just the fact that I remember her name, and her life, and her death, all these 32 falls later, more so than probably 80 percent of the kids in that dorm and 99 percent of the people on that campus, tells you something. I'm sure there was a lot of her story that we didn't hear, or understand, or respond to, either.
If only we had. If only the people in our lives, living and breathing among us, knew each and every day how much we care for them, or how much we'd miss them if they were no longer in our lives. Maybe it would make their days easier, and their darkest moments a little brighter. If only.
I love each and every one of you. And in most cases, there are many who love you even more.
Despite these sad thoughts, the three of us ate, and laughed, and shared a film as family tonight. The name "Bugs Lightyear" is now an unfortunately permanent part of our lexicon. Yet there's nobody I'd rather be embarrassed by, and I plan on it being a long and healthy embarrassment.
A kid in the grade ahead of her, who was president of her HS art club last year (note: Emily is president of her HS art club this year), died in ECMC over the weekend, after hanging himself.
By all accounts, Matt was a brilliant, talented and loved individual. There must be more to the story than that, but it's a part we'll now never completely know, and that finality is as sad and as troubling as any other I can relate to without knowing much of it.
His funeral is tomorrow. His art teacher (also Emily's mentor most of these past four years) had to struggle through the workday today, and had to argue her way into getting a full day off tomorrow (the principal wanted to limit her time to half a day since, hey, the funeral's not until 12:30, so why couldn't she work the first four periods, huh).
I can't put Em's current feelings, much less Matt's, into any kind of meaningful perspective, but this is about as close as I can come: Cornell was a pretty intense place when I was there (and likely is even more so now, since it costs about 20 times more to go there), and suicides were anything but rare. So much so, the administration put high fences over several of the more popular bridges in my years there.
Only one of the many in those four years still sticks with me. Her name, like my now-departed oldest sister, was Sandy, and she went home for a weekend sometime in our freshman year that she never returned from. She was one of 200-odd freshmen, 50-ish of them women, in my first-year dorm, and I'd met her maybe twice, never significantly, but I knew her name from some early-semester mixers and such. Still, just the fact that I remember her name, and her life, and her death, all these 32 falls later, more so than probably 80 percent of the kids in that dorm and 99 percent of the people on that campus, tells you something. I'm sure there was a lot of her story that we didn't hear, or understand, or respond to, either.
If only we had. If only the people in our lives, living and breathing among us, knew each and every day how much we care for them, or how much we'd miss them if they were no longer in our lives. Maybe it would make their days easier, and their darkest moments a little brighter. If only.
I love each and every one of you. And in most cases, there are many who love you even more.
Despite these sad thoughts, the three of us ate, and laughed, and shared a film as family tonight. The name "Bugs Lightyear" is now an unfortunately permanent part of our lexicon. Yet there's nobody I'd rather be embarrassed by, and I plan on it being a long and healthy embarrassment.
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no subject
Date: 2009-10-20 02:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-20 09:56 pm (UTC)(My neighbor's son committed suicide not too long ago. He was very beautiful, very talented in many things and hugely successful -- a boy who'd competed in international diving competitions, who composed beautiful music and who, having decided to become a fashion photographer, was already making enough money to live independently at the age of barely 21. He seemed to have everything going for him, and yet he was in so much pain that he decided to end it all. His parents are of course devastated. They're trying to understand, and keep wondering what they could have done to prevent this. I can only imagine how they, or Matt's teacher and friends must feel today, and I really hope I never have to find out first hand.)