Student Loss- We Made It Hear Today, But Not Everyone Did

Got you. Same piece, your voice, just removed the em dashes and kept everything else intact:

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It’s been a while since I have taken the time to actually publish my blog… is that even the right term? Publish? Either way, we made it here today.

Since the last time I posted, I took a big step back. I started worrying about me more because others were not going to worry about me. No one shows up for you like yourself. There is no one for you like you. And listen, as my friend Christina would say, it’s okay. People have lives.

I don’t like to be vulnerable, but damn it would be nice to have someone else initiate the conversation for once.

All of this has made me realize people don’t notice when I am quiet unless I say I am going quiet… and this is a me problem. I should never expect someone to show up the way I feel I do.

Perception.

Let’s get back to why we are here today.

It’s not pleasant. There is no way to say it or change it.

Student loss.

No, not they moved to another school. They are gone.

While I have experienced loss of students that I have directly worked with, tragic loss, murder, drug deals gone wrong, car accidents, fires, it never, ever gets easier.

The guilt grows.

I no longer have my own classroom. I am in classrooms and schools. We spent time in a meeting on Friday. We talked about goals and the 39,000 plus students in the district we work with and for. In that moment, my previous caseloads, schools, and feeder schools seemed so small.

But now I work for the district, and I have 39,000 youth, difference makers, humanitarians, future leaders, healers, tradesmen and women, doctors, nurses, chefs, electricians, teachers, in my care. Not solely my care, but I still have an opportunity to make an impact on each one.

It was a powerful meeting. Humbling.

We have work to do. Good work.

Then, as I am deep in thought, one week into my Vyvanse journey because Strattera didn’t cut it, after years of not being medicated, I can think, deep in thought, powering through tasks… time’s up.

Meeting time.

We walk in and it’s somber.

We are told there has been an accident involving one of our buses. In another county. It’s bad, but that is all they know.

The day continues, and we are silent as the world doesn’t know yet.

Then it hits the news that one student is dead.

Of course, politicians begin sharing information before parents, students, teachers, building staff know. The news had shared, and politics start sharing for pay, and it’s a bad day.

While I become numb, it’s different. This time is different.

It was a bus. One of our buses.

Two, now two students dead.

The key board warriors are sharing three gone and four. 

We cannot confirm that information and in this moment of grief and heart ache I am grateful that three and four were people just being ignorant ass holes. 

Mind you, I am a nobody in this district. I am here to grow teachers and support them in being the best versions of themselves for the best versions of kiddos that parents drop off every day.

But it’s our district. Our bus.

It’s 25 of those 39,000… and 5 teachers or staff.

A bus driver. A dump truck. A trailblazer.

It’s ominous, and we can’t talk about it.

We ache.

My texts blow up with teachers from other schools, and all I can do is say keep our district in your thoughts and wait for information. Don’t feed rumors.

Then a teacher from that school, “oh my God, your scout kiddos, some of them go here. Were they on this trip?”

A trip with 25 eighth graders who worked so hard to compete with the cars they built.

The day goes on.

I reach out to people I know are impacted. I call my scout families to confirm none of them are on the trip.

People reach out wanting to know more.

In a world where the news beat the school system and families to releasing anything, why are you messaging me? To start more rumors or just to have the “in”?

The evening goes on.

2:30 AM.

My phone is ringing.

I answer.

It is a teacher, directly impacted, in crisis.

39,000 is now 38,998.

It hits.

Two.

Two students.

Our future. Gone.

Parents grieving.

Teachers hurting.

A bus driver in critical condition.

Several hurt.

Teachers on the trip feeling guilt like no other.

Now I feel guilty for feeling guilt and grief.

The fact that I get to hug my son, guilt.

The fact it was our bus, even though I have nothing to do with buses or transportation, guilt.

I am not sure how to shake this.

What I do know is I am not okay… and I feel guilty for not being okay.

I could give you the whole “pray for us,” “stand strong.”

I am sick of it.

Shut up and stop with it.

Half of you don’t pray, and others that do walk around in hypocrisy.

Or you sit there criticizing, talking about seat belts, that does nothing right now. We don’t even know if a seat belt would have saved a life or if the driver had a medical issue.

You act like someone did this purposefully, and as of now, they did not.

So save it.

We have parents without children to hug at night.

Students who lost classmates.

Teachers who lost students and now have grieving students.

A bus driver who may not pull through, and if they do, the guilt will steal their life even if it wasn’t their fault.

Teachers who were on that bus who will never go a day without replaying that moment.

People recovering.

So stop.

Do what is right.

Rally around people.

Love them without needing attention on you.

Be grateful your sleep isn’t hard.

Be grateful your child is home.

Be grateful you don’t have to walk into a building Monday full of grief while still showing up for everyone else.

Because they will.

And they will do it while not being okay.

And me…

I am not okay either.

And I don’t know how to carry that yet.