I loved him. Did he know? I should have loved him more. I could have loved him more. Why did this happen?
Over and over, these are the thoughts that plagued my mind and pierced my heart as I fell limp onto the cold, tiled floor. My body shook with unspeakable grief. Cries of heartache flowed endlessly from my lips, as if stifling the sorrow would cause my soul to shatter. An unknown and unwelcome voice seemed to constantly remind me of the painful knowledge that he was gone forever.
Ernib Lemari, fourteen years old, hung himself on February 28, 2009. After a night of trying to revive his unconscious body, he died on March 1st. Fourteen years of life.
Ernib Lemari, my student.
Another high school teacher came to my bedroom. She sat down with me on the floor. We looked at one another with our tear-streaked faces. I saw my own sadness and sense of emptiness mirrored in her eyes and I said, “So this is what it feels like—death.” I’d never experienced it before, not on this personal level, and I learned that the human body was not created to feel this way. We were not built to bear such grief. The full realization of this hit me later that evening when I pulled away from another SM holding me in comfort. “I can’t cry anymore,” I said quietly. He asked if I had cried all my tears out. In truth I replied, “No, my eyes hurt too much.” I felt physical pain from the hours of anguish. My head ached, my jaw was sore from clenching in despair, I felt as if a heavy weight was pressing in around my swollen eyes, and I was exhausted. My body simply couldn’t take any more.
Suicide is too common here in the Marshall Islands. I’d heard stories, I knew the statistics. The kids feel there’s no future for them. They live on a tiny speck in the middle of the ocean and can’t see past the thirty-two miles that make up Majuro.
I knew I couldn’t change what had happened, but I couldn’t help asking myself the “what if’s.” What if on Friday, the day before he hung himself, I had reached out to him? What if I’d paid just a little more attention? I never expected this. I never expected to leave my year as a student missionary with this ache, this whole, in my heart. They didn’t teach us how to deal with this in our preparation classes. This wasn’t mentioned in orientation.
Ernib is gone. I still feel that pang constantly—when I stare out into the ocean, when I feel the sea breeze caress my face, when I hear the joy in distant laughter, when I feel the cool, damp earth beneath my bare feet, when I see and experience life happening—I know that Ernib is not here anymore, that he can no longer enjoy these simple pleasures.
I cannot bring him back. No “what if’s” will change anything. Tomorrow I have to go back to school. Tomorrow I have to step into my classroom and stand before my shattered students. Tomorrow I have to see Ernib’s empty seat and I have to find strength where I feel I have none. These are the things I will do tomorrow.
And because of Ernib, tomorrow I will make certain every one of my students knows how much I care. They will know I love them beyond definition. They will know I am here. I will not let the day pass without assuring them they have a future. And with all that is in me, I will do what I can to make sure there are no more like Ernib.
Over and over, these are the thoughts that plagued my mind and pierced my heart as I fell limp onto the cold, tiled floor. My body shook with unspeakable grief. Cries of heartache flowed endlessly from my lips, as if stifling the sorrow would cause my soul to shatter. An unknown and unwelcome voice seemed to constantly remind me of the painful knowledge that he was gone forever.
Ernib Lemari, fourteen years old, hung himself on February 28, 2009. After a night of trying to revive his unconscious body, he died on March 1st. Fourteen years of life.
Ernib Lemari, my student.
Another high school teacher came to my bedroom. She sat down with me on the floor. We looked at one another with our tear-streaked faces. I saw my own sadness and sense of emptiness mirrored in her eyes and I said, “So this is what it feels like—death.” I’d never experienced it before, not on this personal level, and I learned that the human body was not created to feel this way. We were not built to bear such grief. The full realization of this hit me later that evening when I pulled away from another SM holding me in comfort. “I can’t cry anymore,” I said quietly. He asked if I had cried all my tears out. In truth I replied, “No, my eyes hurt too much.” I felt physical pain from the hours of anguish. My head ached, my jaw was sore from clenching in despair, I felt as if a heavy weight was pressing in around my swollen eyes, and I was exhausted. My body simply couldn’t take any more.
Suicide is too common here in the Marshall Islands. I’d heard stories, I knew the statistics. The kids feel there’s no future for them. They live on a tiny speck in the middle of the ocean and can’t see past the thirty-two miles that make up Majuro.
I knew I couldn’t change what had happened, but I couldn’t help asking myself the “what if’s.” What if on Friday, the day before he hung himself, I had reached out to him? What if I’d paid just a little more attention? I never expected this. I never expected to leave my year as a student missionary with this ache, this whole, in my heart. They didn’t teach us how to deal with this in our preparation classes. This wasn’t mentioned in orientation.
Ernib is gone. I still feel that pang constantly—when I stare out into the ocean, when I feel the sea breeze caress my face, when I hear the joy in distant laughter, when I feel the cool, damp earth beneath my bare feet, when I see and experience life happening—I know that Ernib is not here anymore, that he can no longer enjoy these simple pleasures.
I cannot bring him back. No “what if’s” will change anything. Tomorrow I have to go back to school. Tomorrow I have to step into my classroom and stand before my shattered students. Tomorrow I have to see Ernib’s empty seat and I have to find strength where I feel I have none. These are the things I will do tomorrow.
And because of Ernib, tomorrow I will make certain every one of my students knows how much I care. They will know I love them beyond definition. They will know I am here. I will not let the day pass without assuring them they have a future. And with all that is in me, I will do what I can to make sure there are no more like Ernib.
Ernib with best friends, Miyoshi and Cathy
