An Odd Coupling: Student Death & Professional Validation

by Elizabeth Van Allen  for scribblesbyartteachervanallen.blogspot.com

Hector in 8th grade, sketching
for my class during a field trip to
the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

I recently attended a memorial service for a former student.  While I knew that the loss of a student would probably happen at some point in my career, I was hit hard by Hector's death- and not just because it is a new experience for me.  Reflecting on this topic was important to me because there are plenty of other teachers out there who have gone, are going, or will go through the same type of experience and may not know how to start processing this type of loss.  While all of our personal journeys are different, I hope that by sharing my experience I can help others work through their losses in a healthy way.

When you haven't seen a student in 6 years, how are you supposed to feel?  I'm not ashamed to admit that I was a mess.  Kids are NOT supposed to die at just 21 years old.  I found out about his death on Facebook one morning just before I left for work.  It was tough keeping myself together through the school day, but I (mostly) managed.  I taught Hector several times a week through his middle school years, starting on the first day of my first official job teaching art at Girard College.  Since the middle and high school classes there are held in the same building, I was in the unique position of being able to see my students grow and mature long after they had left my classroom.  Hector's easy smile and his kindness towards others made him the kind of kid that you can't help but like.  I remember how shocked I was the first time I saw his game face at a 

Founders Hall at Girard College
picture from www.girardcollege.com

wrestling tournament.  When I surprised the school's team with snacks and support at a match near my home one Saturday morning, I didn't expect to see him get so serious so quickly!  Most of all, I remember what a special person he truly was.  When the memorial service was announced, I knew that I had to honor his memory and attend.

As I struggled to find an open seat in the jam-packed funeral home, I was surprised at how naturally the name of the first student I saw came to me.  Part way through the service the woman next to me had run out of tissues.  I found an embarrassingly art teacher-y, crayon box printed pack in my purse, and as I passed one to her I realized that the woman was a former student all grown up.  As I glanced down the row and on to the next I recognized every last face.  Somehow, without realizing it, I had found my seat smack dab in the middle of the Girard College class of 2011.

I had been experiencing the grief of loss, but now a new emotion arose: guilt.  Who was I to be participating in this very personal ritual?  They had all grown up together with Hector, I'm just some former teacher from years ago.  What is my loss in comparison to theirs?  After thinking for a few moments my guilt started to subside.  Hector had obviously touched many hearts and lives in different ways.  The question that I should have been asking is this: Who am I not to grieve the premature loss of this young man?  I looked around again and realized that my 'kids' are no longer children.  They are now adult peers, and by gathering in that place we were sharing in the loss together.  Even though we were grieving in different ways and for different reasons, we were all there because we cared.

above: A student-designed clay
mask.  This assignment was used
by a former student as inspiration
for some of her college artwork!

As we gathered outside after the service, I received some truly unexpected professional validation.  Two former students had recently taken a college art course together, and they shared with me something that I never could have anticipated.  They had based some of their college art work on assignments and concepts that I had taught them back in middle school.  They were so proud, showing me pictures and close ups.  One is even considering a career in the arts!  It filled me with such joy to know that my students remember me for what they learned in my class so many years ago, not as a talking head who once taught them in middle school.  I never imagined that I would receive such a wonderful affirmation.  To know that I am appreciated for doing the best that I could all of those years ago is a real gift, especially since I taught them at the beginning of my career- a time when I felt like I was just trying to keep my head above water. 

What gives me solace is the possibility that I may have made a positive difference in Hector's life too.  Having a student pass on is a terrible feeling, even if you haven't seen them in years.  I'm working through it in the most honest way that I can, feeling my emotions as I have them, allowing myself to experience the grief, getting through it instead of getting over it.  I'm trying to focus on making my current students' experiences as supportive, diverse, and inspiring as possible.  I never want to have regrets about not harboring a student's creative potential.  To me, this honors Hector's memory better than any other gesture I could make. 

This article is dedicated to 
Hector Colon Jr., 1993-2015.