It was shocking news. Shocking for everyone. Shocking in the suddenness of it. Shocking in the timing. Shocking in the location. Shocking in general.
At school, at an event, the gym teacher had a heart attack and died. In the gym. Right there. The same gym teacher who taught my son. My son. The one who was already having trouble parsing death. My son wasn't really close with this teacher. And, it turns out, that like many gym teachers, fitness was not really part of his lifestyle. But it also turns out that my son's homeroom teacher was very close with the gym teacher. And, it turns out, that the entire school went into "tragedy mode" to provide comfort for all students and staff who felt they needed support.
My son, who was skeptical of such things, did not elect to participate. Instead, he lived with his thoughts and let them fester and grow unabated.
The public mourning at the school persisted for several weeks and was capped off by a memorial service. If there was any single event that broke my son, it would be that one.
Cat, relatives, gym teacher. All in about 5 weeks.
Now, you and I know that death stinks. It's a raw deal. You're born. You live. You die. That sucks. But we have the capacity to rationalize. We make it make sense by saying, we'll "live a good life", we'll "do good deeds", we'll "leave a legacy and be remembered forever". We may not believe it but we say and think those things, file the whole death thing in the back of our minds and return to our mundane day-to-day existence.
My son doesn't have the capacity to rationalize death away. Or, if he does, he's stuck on the "death stinks" thought. He can't get over that. And that's where our journey begins.
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