Remembering Dakota.....

The following is a piece I wrote last year. It was my way of dealing with intense emotions that I didn't know how to channel. As a result, this piece has traveled far... it was shared with Dakota's parents and they in turn shared it with many and were appreciative. In some small way... I feel blessed that I might have touched their hearts with my words.

When the sun rises in the morning it will be just another day for me... but for Dakota's parents... it will again be a day filled with unbearable grief grasping the depth of their souls as they recall the events of last year. My thoughts and prayers are with them.


The Silence... of someone lost.

This week, so far (and it is only half way over) has been a week of which no teacher dreams. In fact, it is our prayer that we will never have to experience it... but at times …we do.

Monday morning I was running a bit behind... not late, but in four minutes I would have been... as I drove up the hill to the school, the normal hum of the busy bee hive was evident, students walking to school, buses in line waiting to drop off their load, parents dropping off, teachers driving in, crossing guards and security.... funny... that word "security" as I just typed it struck me as funny... ironic... schools are supposed to be a safe place... parents take it for granted that from the moment their students board the bus or travel in and are dropped off that they will be safe and secure.....

As I got to the top of the hill I was concerned because the guard that usually directs traffic was not in position and cars were paying no head to the stop signs... then I saw him 15 feet or so over with an odd look on his face, talking on his radio.... as I continued around the school no more than a length of a school bus away, there in the street laid a large gray/black lump... motionless... silent....

Since I was busy watching where I was driving, attempting not to hit anyone crossing before me, buses on the right, parked cars on the left, kids everywhere, just trying to get to my parking space.... it wasn't registering.... what was that in the road? It was too big for a duffel bag and why would it be in the road?... and there was a bus in front of it... why would it be behind a bus? How did the buses get around it? Why didn't anyone pick it up, get it out of the way? How am I going to get into my parking space today? She parked too close to the line again and with the buses on my right I can't make the cut....

I got out of my car; my mind confused trying to make sense of everything I had seen. When I got to the sidewalks I happened across a former student on her way to the high school... She greeted me and I said, "Lexi, something's not right"..... in fact, as I entered the building... within moments I came to learn that indeed something was not right... in fact... it was all wrong....

Kids were goofing around... boys will be boys as they say.... one pushed the other and some how Dakota ended up under the back wheels of the bus just as the bus was pulling forward.... The silent -motionless- too big to be a duffel bag- lump was Dakota... lying lifeless in the street.... he did not survive.

He was one of the 120 or so students charged to me, our team of teachers, to nurture, educate and mold on his way to becoming an adult....

We broke all the rules on Monday. We hugged them. We touched them. We prayed (with permission) with them. Tears caressed our cheeks in front of them.

As I try desperately to process what I've seen and experienced I am left with a string of poignant "moments of silence".....

The first.... the silence in my car as I passed his quiet body lying in the fetal position. Thinking back it felt like for that moment in time I was moving in slow motion and there was a hush... lips were moving, people were talking... but I was in my car, no radio... just silence.

We knew that Dakota was hurt, but, it wasn't until after we taught our first class and sent the students off to their "specials" (art, gym, etc) that we (our team of teachers) learned that Dakota didn't survive. We sat in a circle, silent, as our team leader lead us in a prayer for his family, silent as our administrators walked in on our actions and joined us, silent as we lifted our heads and looked for guidance.

We were told it was the parent's wishes that we not say anything to the students... so we dried our tears, pulled ourselves together and welcomed them back into our classes with a silence of knowledge. It wasn't more than a half hour later that counselors were in place, his parents had changed their minds, our silence would be broken... shattered.....

I entered one room just as the students were informed.... they were sitting in their seats in rows.... tears forming in their eyes looking like caged birds ready to burst.... I gave them permission to fly (move) and fly they did... flocking to the comfort of each other's arms....

The boys struggled at first.... torn between wanting to be a man and being the child that they are....they sat segregated... and silent... another moment. Why does society teach boys that tears are a sign of weakness?

I sat in silence with Heather as she told me how she saw his face after it happened.... it was turning gray, then blue... she thinks that perhaps he died while she was watching. I don't know. I have no answers for her. I'm the teacher... I'm supposed to have all the answers... and this week.. we have none.

There was silence as we sat with them throughout the rest of the day.

There was silence as we walked our babies out to their buses... the sidewalks lined with all extra personnel, their backs to the street to keep the media at bay....

There was silence in the faculty meeting where they thanked us for our cooperation throughout the day.

There was silence as I walked out of the building for the last time on Monday and saw the bus loaded onto a flatbed waiting to be taken away as evidence in a homicide case.

There was silence as I called in to tell my second job that I was running late because of all that had happened..... "he was one of yours?" finally broke the airwaves...followed by... "don't even think about coming in."

There was silence when I got home.... my children to far away to hold... my dog... not much of a conversationalist.

There was silence within me as I walked through the grocery store buying everything I needed to go home and make soup that I will deliver to my boys, hundreds of miles away, and hug them in the process.

And then, God Bless her... my mother sat with me in silence as I recanted the day and stayed to help me chop vegetables for the soup.

There was silence Tuesday morning as I stood in my kitchen convincing myself that I had to drive in... that I would not see the same thing,

There was silence as a small group gathered around a tree close to the site to lay flowers, card and candles.

There was silence as the students filtered into the school.... close to 900 12-14 year olds and not a sound other than their footsteps.

There was silence in my homeroom. The kids decided we should all wear something black to show our unity and in remembrance... the homeroom period was extended for nearly half an hour so that we could assess which students would require additional counseling... but how could we? They all just sat there in total silence... not because they were told to... but because they could not yet speak for themselves... eventually my stomach started to turn.. the silence was so intense I started to feel as though I wanted to vomit.... on the brink of tears...I had to walk out into the hall... there I found another teacher, also trying to escape from the silence in her room.

First period wasn't ready... nor was I.... the other classes had to catch up from the day before... so we chose a video and sat together in silence.... I don't think any of us will recall what was on that tape.

Second period as our students went to their specials our team was "debriefed". Another moment of silence as they asked us to process (within the next 40 minutes) the prior day's events. Where do you begin? When, if ever, will it end?

As we finally started to break the silence sharing our version, our stories, our connections to the tragic day.... the ache in my heart grew. Initially I hurt for Dakota's family, the bus driver, the few students that I knew who had witnessed it, the child who's push sent the moments of silent into motion... and his family. But the tragedy grows with knowledge... initially I hadn't realized that there were still kids on the bus.... they said it felt like they were going over a speed bump... for the rest of their lives each and every time they encounter a speed bump it will become a child instead. I ache for all of them. A former student with whom I am close... sought me out to talk... he actually saw it happen and ran to pound on the doors of the bus to get it to stop. I ache for him. I told him that he can always come to me to talk if he'd like.. that I am here for him... he politely said, "thank you." It seemed to make a difference.... I ache for my fellow teachers.... the kids will be coming back in 5 minutes... time for more silence... pull yourselves together...

The rest of the school day I made an attempt to break some of the moments of silence. I got out one of my wiggliest snakes... he does not like to just sit in my lap, but to try to slither through my belt loops, up my sleeves or into my bracelets.... as I gave the briefest of notes, walking about the room... he was in my hands... doing all the things that he likes to do... it made the students giggle and smile.... and with 10-15 minutes left in each class period... it got them to get up out of their seats... to come and play with the snake and to talk....

Dismissal once again had a sound to it.... more like a low whisper than the usual roar....

Silence returned for me last night as I came home, once again to an empty house... the phone rang... but I didn't feel much like talking....

This morning we are blessed with another moment of silence.... 4-8 inches snow that has canceled school... it blankets the earth with warmth.... it will put out the candles burning in front of the school and cover the cards and letters.... parents and students will be trapped inside their homes long enough to hug, cry, appreciate each other's presence, and get back to being on each other's nerves.... the snow is also a gift to the teachers, a moment of silence with no required destination or limitation.... where we can sit and try to process all the moments of silence amidst the noise of hearts breaking, lives changing, babies forced to grow up too fast.

There will be many more moments of silence, almost too difficult to bear... the calling hours.... the pending services on Saturday, that will now be held instead of Dakota's 13th birthday party... the memorial service being planned at school.... the moment we say our final good-bye and start our lives without Dakota.... the moments of reflection that I hope will make me a better teacher.... the silence.... of someone lost.

1/28/2009

Post script:
These words… “please join in a moment of silence” for me, have forever taken on a new meaning…..words, which in the past I heard, but did not feel. I now feel and hear with my heart. I hear them with a deafening silence.
I heard them as the entire school congregated in the gymnasium, chatting endlessly as the students awaited the beginning of the memorial service and came to an abrupt, immediate silence the moment our Principal stepped towards the podium.
And I heard them, after the service came to a close and we filed out of the building, gathering around the flag pole to release 13 balloons (one for each trip Dakota made around the sun… too few trips). The snow seemed to let up just long enough, but the cold was gripping and yet… not a sound.

The students and staff stood, turning in silence to follow the balloons as they drifted out over the Valley and remained in silence, motionless, tears warming our cold cheeks….
They had, for the moment, lost their voices again. I wanted desperately to hear them. I wanted to say the Lord’s Prayer and have all join me creating a sound so loud Dakota would have to hear it in heaven. Not allowed. I spoke in it my soul as the winter winds carried the balloons. And then I smiled, what would be even better would have been to sing Happy Birthday. I thought it might help them to find their voices again, but it was not my decision to make. Instead we stood in silence, not wanting to move, wanting desperately to prolong the moment we would start our lives again without Dakota as part of them, not wanting to take our eyes off of what we’d convinced ourselves were still the balloons in sight…. Not wanting to break the moment of silence.

Embrace the noise.

2/6/2009