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
4 comments:
Oh, Jaimie, I sympathize. I understand how the kids think that they're on a tiny speck in the ocean with no future. Ebeye's even smaller than Majuro. I almost began crying as I read your post because I love and worry for my kids, too, even when they drive me crazy.
From one SM teaching high school English to another SM teaching high school English, I send you prayers and sympathy.
~Ashlee
Hello, dear one...I am sending my heartfelt sympathies to you and your beloved island family. Loss like this, in some ways, is the hardest type to deal with. No good bye, the feelings of guilt for not knowing or somehow not being able to stop it, all of these cover us with such remorse that we feel like we will never be whole again. These are the things I know...that you are not alone as God has wrapped his arms around you and will be with you, ernib's family, friends and all those who cared for and loved him. You will have many occasions to doubt that you did what you could and only you know what that looks like. I am betting that a woman with your soul and depth of spiritual giving did more than you think you did because that is your true nature. Still, if you have doubts about that, it sounds to me like you have already begun to put your self in a space and place of recognition and giving more to your students---spreading hope and inpsiring them to choose a different path. The one thing that I would ask you to consider is to absolutely move with this conviction to ensure the children know you love them and that they have futures, but, take care of your energy. In times of crisis, we learn that we have a responsibility to take care of our selves so that we can be there to support others. Be kind to you...experience your grief and know that you will have a gift to share with others when they have this same experience and have no one they can talk to. In closing, I send my love, blessings and this link to honor your special student and all of you that are suffering this loss. I hope you get this link to work...it means so much to me...it holds me together when it is dark and I am alone...Love you, Luz :)
http://link.brightcove.com/services/player/bcpid1785324681?bclid=1338935106&bctid=1913313052
My dear Jaimie girl~I am so sorry to hear of your loss...of the loss of this young man. My heart cries for your pain. It hurts so much to lose a student, and even more so when it is by that student's own hand. Your questions are so understandable...your feelings so very natural. I am so sorry for your pain. Watch your email...I am going to send you some material for classroom teachers that I give to teachers in our district after the death of a student.
My heart goes out to you. I am praying for you this moment, as you are with your students. I am praying for Ernib's family, and for his friends and classmates who will miss him. I know God has you where He needs you, and I know He will give you the strength you need through this time.
Much love,
Aunt Marnie
Dear Jaimie, You don't know me but I'm a fellow SM and I've been following your blog. My heart is breaking for you and your students. I have watched two of my own family die, and I feel your pain greatly. I am crying with you. Know that you are in my prayers and will also ask the staff here to pray for you.
-Desiree
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