The Silken Tent

Dwelling in Possibility -- A Year of Change
2004

 I dwell in possibility. — Emily Dickinson



 



May 2, 2004
Sunday

We'll call him Kevin, although that's not his real name. I don't know him or his family, but then for purposes of this essay I don't need to. In my long experience with teens I've known so many kids like him that it's not hard to imagine from what I've been reading and the pictures I've been seeingwhat he was like and what effect he had on others.

He was the quarterback on the football team at a nearby school not unlike Lynn's. He was preparing for the senior prom next weekend, and graduation a few weeks after that. He'd signed a letter of intent to play Division I football next year at a respected university where his the quality of his scholarship was as important to his admission as the quality of his athletic skills.

He didn't go to school on Thursday. Late in the afternoon someone saw him in his Jeep Cherokee driving through town. He didn't come home Thursday night. Friday's paper reported him missing. A search was begun.

Today's paper conveyed the sad news. His Jeep was spotted in the parking lot of a rural church (not the one he attended). His body was found in the woods behind the church. He was dead of what has been ruled a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

No one interviewed for the article was able to give even the slightest suggestion of what might have led this dazzling young man to seek a permanent solution to what must surely have been a temporary problem. His friends are baffled, his teachers and coaches mystified, the sportswriter who knew him well left without adequate words to describe his bewilderment. The article included remarks by a local psychologist about the warning signs of teen suicide. But the people interviewed insist none of those signs was present.

In my long teaching career I coped with the deaths of several students, most of them from accident or chronic disease. Only one of them was a suicide. The principal at the time had strong feelings about how the professional staff should react.in this situation. He believed that references to the tragedy should be minimal, that at no time should the act appear to be glorified through memorial displays (even temporary ones), and that faculty should appear to go about their business as if the student had merely transferred to another school. He thought this minimized the possibility that there might be copycat acts or attempts by lonely and troubled youngsters who might think this was a good way to get some attention.

I find myself troubled and sad tonight. There's already been more in the newspaper and on the television than I think anybody not connected with the family needs to know about the circumstances surrounding Kevin's death. Things will only get worse in the days leading up to the funeral, which will probably be later this week.

I look hard at his senior picture spread across two columns in the paper. Our refrigerator door is covered right now with the dozens of pictures of Lynn's classmates that she has collected over this year. Kevin's picture would fit right in. He was just Lynn's age. His mother and I must have been pregnant at the same time. I think of her tonight in her unfathomable grief, and I weep for her.



 

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(Previous volumes of this journal were called My Letter to the World and The Gestures of Trees. They can be accessed from the directories below.)
Archive of The Gestures of Trees 2003
Archive of Letters 2002
Archive of Letters 2001
Archive of Letters 2000
Archive of Letters 1999

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Margaret DeAngelis.

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