So many of you have been immensely kind in your responses to Adela, whose 12 year old sister hung herself and who was herself in the hospital on suicide watch. (An Unspeakable Sadness)
This morning, our first day back from Thanksgiving break, Adela was waiting for me again at my door. I greeted her with the biggest smile I have and even as I was telling her how much we missed her, she went right to the folders to pass them out. She remarked about how the date hadn't been changed on the board since the last time she changed it.
After she finished, she came to me and asked, "Can I talk to you privately?" I took her right outside my door into the hall.
"My sister killed herself and she's gone now, "she said in one breath.
I could hardly control my voice as I gushed out my condolences and my gratitude that she was back with us.
As I ended, she flung her arms around me and squeezed me as tightly as I've ever been squeezed. I already had tears forming and they ran down my face now.
She sighed as she released me and said, "She's in a better place. And I'm going to good places in my life."
"Oh, honey, you truly are. There is so much good waiting for you out there. I can't wait to see all the things you are going to accomplish in your life."
A turtleneck wrapped around her neck to hide any marks that might remain. The students welcomed her back with various greetings. I am so proud of how they accept her just as she is and was relieved to see how eager she seemed to be to get back into the routine of things.
We will have a meeting with the counselor and social workers this afternoon on her status. But for now, it's good to see her back in her spot.
Thanks to all of you for your prayers and good wishes for her. She still has much to deal with, but I pray she catches some good breaks in her life now.
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Monday, November 28, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Unspeakable Sadness
This is going to be difficult to write because my heart is so heavy and broken this morning.
Each morning when I walk in, I have a chipper 6th grade girl from my first period class, Adela, who meets me at the door, chatters all the way in, and immediately sets about passing out folders, changing the date, anything she can do to help.
Adela is 11 years old and a foster child. She and her 12 year old sister, Sarah, have been through much abuse and heartache in their lives. Their mother ultimately decided several months ago she didn't want the girls in her life anymore because they'd crimp her lifestyle. She had them too young, she told the judge, and she wanted to enjoy life a little before she had to settle down. She voluntarily severed her rights to them and told them she didn't want to see them anymore. They have never known their father.
The girls, despite all this, have not been outwardly mopey or depressed. They love to talk and have friends here at school.
Adela told me last week she thought maybe her mother had died. I asked her why, and she said, "I just feel inside me she may have died. It feels like it." The social worker told me as far as they knew, the mother was alive and partying hard. We all assured Adela and Sarah their mom was indeed alive, though just not able to be a part of their lives right now.
Last night, Sarah hung herself. Adela is in the hospital on suicide watch. Their pain had reached a tipping point and at 11 and 12 years of age they decided there was no hope anymore for them. Period.
I can't even write this without tears coming again. When I found out, I had to lock myself in a bathroom and weep for a long time. I keep examining things, wondering if there were signs we should have spotted. Really, there weren't. They'd been dealt some horrific blows, but their counselors, social workers and foster family felt they were dealing with things in a resilient way.
The only thing I can come away from this with is to talk to the kids in your life often. They become very good at covering up what's inside. You can't ever tell them too often you love them. That prickly teen of yours? Wrap them up in a big bear hug and whisper to them how your life is so much grander because they are in it. That niece or nephew who's silly and immature? Smile and let them know how they bless your life. Those grandchildren? Cup their sweet faces in your hands and tell them you'll always love them just because they are who they are.
And this morning when I get to my classroom, I know I will be passing out folders by myself. I will have a time of chatter free quiet before the tardy bell rings. Yesterday's date will still be on the board in Adela's handwriting. I'm going to leave it unchanged for a while. It will be a good reminder that life is precious.
Each morning when I walk in, I have a chipper 6th grade girl from my first period class, Adela, who meets me at the door, chatters all the way in, and immediately sets about passing out folders, changing the date, anything she can do to help.
Adela is 11 years old and a foster child. She and her 12 year old sister, Sarah, have been through much abuse and heartache in their lives. Their mother ultimately decided several months ago she didn't want the girls in her life anymore because they'd crimp her lifestyle. She had them too young, she told the judge, and she wanted to enjoy life a little before she had to settle down. She voluntarily severed her rights to them and told them she didn't want to see them anymore. They have never known their father.
The girls, despite all this, have not been outwardly mopey or depressed. They love to talk and have friends here at school.
Adela told me last week she thought maybe her mother had died. I asked her why, and she said, "I just feel inside me she may have died. It feels like it." The social worker told me as far as they knew, the mother was alive and partying hard. We all assured Adela and Sarah their mom was indeed alive, though just not able to be a part of their lives right now.
Last night, Sarah hung herself. Adela is in the hospital on suicide watch. Their pain had reached a tipping point and at 11 and 12 years of age they decided there was no hope anymore for them. Period.
I can't even write this without tears coming again. When I found out, I had to lock myself in a bathroom and weep for a long time. I keep examining things, wondering if there were signs we should have spotted. Really, there weren't. They'd been dealt some horrific blows, but their counselors, social workers and foster family felt they were dealing with things in a resilient way.
The only thing I can come away from this with is to talk to the kids in your life often. They become very good at covering up what's inside. You can't ever tell them too often you love them. That prickly teen of yours? Wrap them up in a big bear hug and whisper to them how your life is so much grander because they are in it. That niece or nephew who's silly and immature? Smile and let them know how they bless your life. Those grandchildren? Cup their sweet faces in your hands and tell them you'll always love them just because they are who they are.
And this morning when I get to my classroom, I know I will be passing out folders by myself. I will have a time of chatter free quiet before the tardy bell rings. Yesterday's date will still be on the board in Adela's handwriting. I'm going to leave it unchanged for a while. It will be a good reminder that life is precious.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)