Rest in Peace

This week, a former student wrote to share that a former classmate had taken his own life. She only knew that this young man had been in band with me, and wanted to be sure I knew. Her reaching out was so very thoughtful and caring, and I was touched that she would know that I would care to know this. She didn't know the rest of the story.

Jason had been my son's best friend from nursery school until about middle school, where their interests went different directions. Though they remained friends, they were not as close as they had been as little guys, giggling together over something silly, digging in the woods for 'lost treasure' as they told me...eating pancakes at the breakfast table after an overnight stay. They played trombone together in the band, and weathered many storms of pre-adolescence. Jason was very sweet, cooperative and easy-going. The two together seemed to laugh a lot, and both seemed to drag their feet when it came to growing up too fast. Jason's family taught Ty how to ride three-wheelers, and their family activities were quite physical and outdoors...very different from our family, and I thought good for my son as well. I enjoyed short chats with his parents and older brother, waiting for the boys to clean up their messes before taking one or another home. How did that time seem to last forever, but now represents only a heartbeat so long ago?

Both boys graduated from high school and went their separate ways, to different universities, and different lives. Jason became a Sergeant in the National Guard after graduation, and got home in December from a tour in Afghanistan. I am not sure what the story is after all that, but I would guess, from the limited knowledge I have, that he may have suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. The Jason I knew was bright, sensitive, loving, caring, and very loyal. I believe he was that kind of young man as well, and was probably a very strong leader serving his country. To end his own life - we can only begin to imagine the pain he was in and why he felt this was the only way out. I think of him several times a day - lamenting the loss of an incredible young man, knowing a light went out in the world, and worrying about his family. I have no words for his family that can ease a loss of this magnitude. I can't even begin to explain the pain I feel myself, which pales in comparison to theirs.

And there is the pain my children feel as well - much deeper, much fresher, more acute. My son may feel he lost a big part of his childhood and though the two men hadn't communicated much over the past eight years, I know he wants to reach out to the family that provided a second home for him for so many years. My daughter reached out to her brother, to be sure he was supported as well. We are all too far away to be with the family, and the distance feels obscene right now. Almost as if through the act of moving, we have forsaken the ties that were so important for so long. There is some guilt lying underneath all of that I suppose. Perhaps the feeling that I have disengaged my children from their community roots without their permission.

I have no words of wisdom. The cold, hard truth of life sometimes just is what it is. Everything about this is horrible. And for my children, this is only the beginning of learning to deal with loss. And there is no softening of these blows. Wrapping my arms around them can no longer protect them. It merely lets them know I am still here.

So, I dug up the old home movies of the boys to copy for my son, the memories that were made over a very short lifetime. We wrote notes to his family, and sent money off to Wounded Warriors. I suppose that is the best we can do right now. Except perhaps - Rest in peace, Jason. You will be missed greatly by many.

Passing on wisdom...

Part of my journey back to school to get the Ph. D. was my desire to share the lessons I have learned through my own teaching with the next generation of music teachers. I hoped I could share these lessons in ways that would make their lives easier, make them smarter faster, in order to move the profession forward in new and exciting ways. Much like I hoped to share how I have arrived at this place in my life, battle-scarred and tired, but ultimately very happy, with my own children. Neither of these ideas have panned out the way I hoped that they would. This realization speaks to my transformation as well.

First of all, we are each the sum of our experiences. These complex interactions shape us, just as we shape the interactions we have, as we are having them. And as we think on past experiences, our thoughts shape who we are becoming and how we react to the next set of interactions. So though I can tell wonderful stories about my experiences, I can't prevent anyone from stepping smack dab into the middle of an unwelcome experience. I can be empathetic, just as I can make you feel you are not alone in this crazy profession. I can suggest tools and habits of mind to find your own way out...but I can't prevent them from happening.

Secondly, as much as we love our adult children, they don't believe us. They never seem to think our stories have a bearing on their lives. And to be fair, I am not sure as parents, we see them as they are! I often wonder if I have frozen them in some time warp of post-teenage-hood that doesn't allow me to really see who they have become as adults. I suppose it is the same with children being able to understand their parents as people. I want to soothe the pains of young adulthood, protect them from anything that would not allow them to be happy. Unfortunately, I can't prevent those experiences either, as much as I want to. I can only THINK about the tools and habits of mind I wish I had taught them when they were young and malleable. I don't dare offer bits of hard-won wisdom without an invitation to do so!

I thought being able to look back over all these years would allow me to give clarity to others. I realize now, this is not the point at all. The truth, my truth, is that I have found the clarity I need to move forward in my own life. I continue to weave the fabric of my life, just as my students and my children are weaving theirs. We each chose the threads we use, the colors we like, the designs we desire. Even as we swear we are unlucky or that something is happening to us, we are in the process of reacting, projecting, interpreting, the designs we weave into our lives. It is what living is all about.

I really wish I could wave a magic wand over those I love, those I care about, those I teach, and protect them from future regret, or allow them to feel the warmth of what is the promise of their futures. I can only stand on the sidelines and coach, sometimes quietly, sometimes noisily, with as much grace as I can muster, to be present through all the excitement, the joy, and the tears. And in the meantime, continue to work on any wisdom I can find, from those who have walked before me, allowing them to cheer me on from the sidelines.