I Wish My Teacher Knew

by Kyle Schwartz

  Additionally, Legacy Projects should be done in partnership with grieving family members and loved ones. I know a family whose daughter suddenly and tragically passed away during the school year. In response, the school created a loving memorial by dedicating a bench in her name. The bench unintendedly caused some mixed feelings for the girl’s younger brother who continued attending the school. The family wanted teachers to know that “it is important to consider the impact a project or memorial may have on other siblings still attending the school, especially, if it is a permanent fixture. We were touched by the gesture, but would have loved to be included in the discussions.”

  In My Classroom

  Tara Seekins, Asst. Head of School, Willow Creek Academy

  What strikes me, all these years later, was the timing of it all. My fourth-grade class had just read Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes by Eleanor Coerr, a novel based on the true story of a girl who developed cancer as a result of radiation in her hometown of Hiroshima, Japan. In the book, Sadako consoles herself by making origami cranes. If she can reach her goal of making one thousand origami cranes, her best friend tells her, she will be rewarded with one wish.

  Just as we finished the story, the mother of one of my students came up to me and explained that her son Bruno, perfectly healthy days ago, had collapsed over the weekend. Soon we found out it was the result of a brain tumor. Bruno would undergo radiation therapy and would not be returning to our school.

  At first, I struggled to make sense of it all, but I resolved to do everything in my power to nurture Bruno and support his thirty-three classmates through this time of unimaginable grief. My first step was to make myself available to Bruno’s family. I would be his home-hospital teacher and would keep Bruno in contact with his classmates. Then, I had the wearying task of presenting the awful news to the class. The discussion was difficult and painful. It was hard, but I was honest and direct. I allowed their concerns and curiosity to drive the conversation. I found myself answering questions like “Why did Bruno get cancer?” and “Can I catch it?” I followed up our discussion with a note home to the families in our classroom and made myself available for their questions too.

  Very shortly after learning of his condition, Bruno’s classmates devised a plan to fold one thousand origami paper cranes, in the spirit of Sadako, in hopes that it would grant them one precious wish. So, colorful paper began to be folded and creased by a collection of little fingers. Over the next weeks, my industrious students kept track of their progress towards their goal on the board in thick blue marker: first “943 cranes to go” then “662 cranes to go.” A few children even opened up a “Crane Hospital” where they fixed up any frail cranes in need of care, just like their friend. Soon there were “456 cranes to go” and “125 cranes to go” and finally just one crane to go. The honor of folding the final paper crane was given to Bruno’s best friend, who triumphantly strung up the last paper creation to the strand.

  The moment had come to make our hard-earned wish. Even now, ten years later, the image of Bruno’s thirty-three classmates sitting cross-legged in total concentration is still with me. With their fists clenched and eyes scrunched, each student focusing every ounce of energy on a singular expression of hope for their friend’s survival. It remains the most potent assertion of humanity I have ever experienced.

  Once again, the timing of it all caught me off guard. Just as I attempted to arrange a classroom visit, Bruno’s mother called to inform me that Bruno had taken a turn for the worse. His health was deteriorating very quickly. He would not be able to do any more schooling and visiting the school was now unfeasible. I was heartbroken. I too had grasped on to his classmates’ sincere belief in the healing power of paper cranes.

  Desperate to preserve the wish, I rushed to the hospital with a rainbow of paper cranes in the backseat of my car. Under a wobbling heap of folded paper, I summoned all my courage and tottered into the pediatric intensive care unit, then lovingly draped exactly one thousand paper cranes onto Bruno’s IV tower.

  The reality of his circumstance was apparent. Bruno was no longer the energetic child he had been just months ago. His body strained as he turned to take in the paper waterfall that hung haphazardly beside him. As the corners of a smile spread across his swollen cheeks, a sense of comfort came over me as I realized that Bruno understood the significance of every last paper crane.

  Our work was not in vain. This was powerful medicine.

  In the end, Bruno’s fate was the same as Sadako’s. He passed away a few months after the cranes and the wish were delivered. As a class, we created a memorial space outside of our classroom where we hung a plaque engraved with a paper crane and dedicated the space to his memory.

  I wouldn’t wish this experience upon any child, any teacher, or any classroom. Coping with this loss was more than the beautiful act of forming paper cranes. It was also incredibly painful. As a young teacher with limited personal experience with loss of this magnitude, I could not have planned or prepared for the toll such a tragedy would take.

  Bruno’s body did not deserve the suffering it was put through. But he did deserve to know just how much his classmates cared about him. I know that it was my responsibility to shepherd my students through the loss of their friend. It was also my opportunity to be the teacher my students needed. Through this sorrowful circumstance, I was challenged to access empathy and inner resources I never knew existed, and the same can be said for Bruno’s classmates.

  I want teachers to know tragedy may happen in your classroom. If it does, embrace it as an opportunity to come to your work with more heart than you ever thought was imaginable, to model healthy heartbreak, and be a source of strength during the healing.

  When the larger community is witness to acts of service through a Legacy Project, it is an impressive model of generosity and empowerment. At our school, we have such a model. Without fail, on the very first day of school one of my ardent new students will ask the question, “When is Alyssa coming?” Alyssa never attended our school. My class and I never had the pleasure of meeting Alyssa, yet, her presence has blessed our school community.

  The Alyssa the children speak of is Alyssa Hemmelgarn, a fourth-grade girl whose compassion and love of reading characterized her life. Alyssa passed away on March 8, 2007, only ten short days after being diagnosed with leukemia. In commemoration of her love of books, the organization Alyssa Cares was created. Her parents, Joe and Carole Hemmelgarn, visit five elementary schools in Denver several times a year to tell Alyssa’s story and put brand new books in the hands and homes of each student. To date, more than fifty thousand books have been cherished by students thanks to her legacy.

  Through Alyssa Cares, my students are able to select a new book to take home, but they receive a much greater gift. Each time Joe and Carole come to our school they tell our students about a book Alyssa loved as well as share her story. “Giving books to children is a gift to us,” explains Carole. “We have the opportunity to talk about our daughter and kids are able to ask questions.” For me, this has created an opportunity to discuss death and grief in an authentic way in my classroom. Just as important as giving books is providing students with a positive grief model.

  A Legacy Project you facilitate does not have to be as involved as forming a nonprofit organization, however, Joe and Carole’s example shows the ripple effect of a Legacy Project. As Carole says, “Our hope is that children, even young children, nurture the love of reading like our daughter, but we also want them to see the impact that one person can make.” Not only can you and your students take active steps to process a loss and make a positive impact on the community in the process, but you can also be a model for your wider community.

  5. Grief and Loss Inventory

  Since we know loss impacts a critical mass of our students and issues of grief may manifest themselves long after an incident occurs, one step a school can take is to create and maintain a Grief and Loss Inventory. The goal of a schoolwide G
rief and Loss Inventory is to make the appropriate teachers and school staff aware of what a particular student is coping with so they can be empathetic and supportive. Professor Linda Goldman describes a Grief and Loss Inventory as “a tool for creating and storing history on the grieving child throughout his or her academic life.”

  To respect our students’ privacy, this can be done with permission from families and the impacted students themselves. Often, families and students are appreciative of having this information shared, albeit in caring ways, so there is widespread understanding and support without the need to individually retell their story to each teacher or staff member. It might also be appropriate to provide the family and sometimes the student with a copy of their entry in the school’s Grief and Loss Inventory, so they are informed and approve of all information being shared.

  Example of Grief and Loss Inventory

  Student Name:

  Brief explanation of grief incident:

  Family members and friends affected:

  Important dates to be aware of:

  Observations prior to grief incident:

  Known challenges:

  Successful interventions:

  Less successful interventions:

  Further notes:

  When a school community compiles an inventory, it is helpful to collect general information on the grief incident itself; it is also important to include relevant dates such as birthdays and deaths of loved ones that may have a great impact on the child through the years. A thoughtful teacher might include notes on activities or topics that might be difficult for the student to explore as a result of their grief. Information on what could send a student into an agitated state as well as which interventions have been beneficial and which have not will ultimately help the child’s future teachers and other school staff support the student.

  If the grief incident occurred in the middle of the student’s academic career, it can be very helpful for an educator to record information and observations about the student’s behaviors and academic process prior to the event occurring. Grief can manifest in ways that look similar to symptoms of learning disabilities and attention disorders, which means this information can be helpful to teachers and families so they are better able to differentiate true learning disabilities from grief-related behavior.

  Imagine a student who lost his father when he was five years old. Certainly his kindergarten teacher would know of this, and his first-grade teacher might also have been made aware of the situation. However, without a systematic way of preserving this information, the likelihood of each successive year’s teacher understanding the impact of his circumstances drops. Imagine now, that same little boy in sixth grade getting into a physical fight on the anniversary of his father’s death.

  A thoughtful educator made aware of how grief has affected this boy would be more likely to connect the dots and see the fight as related to feelings of loss than a teacher who has no knowledge of the student’s history. The informed teacher would certainly take action to ameliorate the harm caused by the fight, but he or she would also be able to support the student by addressing the root cause of the incident. If knowledge of the student’s grief and loss had not been preserved in a schoolwide inventory, educators and administrators could not have a complete understanding of the incident. A Grief and Loss Inventory helps us record information that might otherwise be overlooked so we can support our students in the best way possible.

  You might feel that you do not have enough expertise or training to support a grieving child. But feel encouraged that as a teacher you do not need to be an expert in grief and loss to make a positive impact during a difficult situation. You are a caring adult and can be present and authentic. Do not underestimate the impact of this. As Professor Goldman writes in her book Children Also Grieve, “We are powerless to control the losses and catastrophic events our children may need to face. But by honoring their inner wisdom, providing mentorship, and creating safe havens for expression, we can empower them to become more capable and more caring human beings.”

  5.

  When Students Are in Danger

  Supporting Students in the Trauma-Informed Classroom

  My Classroom Community

  A week before our school year ended, my class was putting together a book of all the stories, jokes, and learning that had happened that year. One student was writing down her favorite song of the school year, which sparked a conversation with her tablemate. I didn’t hear the beginning of their conversation, but from the corner of our classroom I heard one girl make a comment that shook me. “Yeah, he beat Rihanna up, but you know it was her fault. She deserved it.”

  They were talking about the tragic incident of recording artist Chris Brown assaulting his then-girlfriend Rihanna, another famous singer. The incident had been all over the news and trickled down to the students in my classroom. There wasn’t much ambiguity to the facts of the case: Chris Brown was under investigation for felony battery, and photos of Rihanna’s bruised face had been leaked to the press. It was pretty easy for anyone to connect the dots, but it seemed that some of the young minds in my room had only partially understood the situation. Even more troubling was that some had come to the conclusion that the innocent woman had brought the abuse on herself.

  This comment, which my student made so casually, upset me. Had she overhead this statement and was repeating it? Or was this her own conclusion? Perhaps she was led to believe women are at fault more often than men because of a larger cultural narrative, or perhaps she simply was at the point in her life when kids believe bad things only happen to bad people. Either way, I felt it was my responsibility as a teacher and as a caring adult to address her comment.

  Abuse was an intimidating subject for me to approach as a teacher. I could have ignored her comment or quickly told her to not say something like that, but instead I explored her thoughts further. I asked her, “What do you mean? Tell me more about that.” She explained that she didn’t know much about the case but had heard her family talking about it. Murmurings and whispers swept through the room, and numerous students raised their hands, eager to share their personal experiences.

  I remember the conversation clearly. One student explained how he had used his small body to hold the bathroom door shut in order to protect himself and his little sister from the rage of his mother’s ex-boyfriend. Another student shared the story of the time his intoxicated father threw the TV across their room, forcing the child and his mother to flee barefoot in the snow to safety in a neighbor’s apartment. One child told how his father had heroically intervened in a physical fight to protect a family friend. And another explained that the reason her cousins now lived with her family was because they had gotten hit before. Yet another child told of a bloody handprint left on the wall of their new apartment. “I can still see it in my mind,” he said flatly. For me, it was shocking to realize this topic elicited such a strong outpouring of emotions and that so many of my students had such personal experiences of abuse.

  Adverse Childhood Experiences in America

  Below are a few of the startling statistics that demonstrate the realities of abuse in America:

  •In 2013, forty-seven states reported approximately 3.1 million children received preventative services from Child Protective Services agencies in the United States.

  •Of the children who experienced maltreatment or abuse, nearly 80 percent suffered neglect; 18 percent suffered physical abuse; and 9 percent suffered sexual abuse.

  •One in fifteen children is exposed to intimate partner violence each year, and 90 percent of these children are eyewitnesses to the violence.

  •About one in ten children will be sexually abused before they turn eighteen years old.

  Knowing the reality of abuse in America is the first step to becoming a trauma-informed educator. The National Coalition Against Domestic Violence encourages “local schools and youth programs to train teachers, school counselors, and athletic coaches on ho
w to recognize children and teens who are victims of intimate partner violence. Provide educators with resources and prepare them to intervene in domestic violence, dating violence, and stalking situations.”

  But I was most taken aback by Sonny’s story. He told the class something quite shocking. Sonny had just arrived at our school. He had come from a Mexican city on the border. He told the story of his journey to America, and the incident that caused his mother and himself to flee for their lives.

  He told us all how his father would fight with his mother, but because his father was “friends with the president,” as he put it in his developing English, his father never got in trouble. Sonny told me of the day he and his mother escaped. He had to run from the door of his house to the car while his father was shooting a gun at his mother. As Sonny told the class his story, his big brown eyes looked up at me and a broad forced smile kept his tears at bay. I marveled at how such a little boy had been so strong.

  Abuse in America

  While most of my students have not experienced abuse, the hard truth I learned that afternoon is that some have. Looking at the statistics, I know that some of the students in my classroom are likely experiencing abuse or coping with the fallout every day but not telling anyone. The statistics on how many of America’s children experience abuse show an appalling reality. As teachers, we want to believe the children in our classrooms are the exception, that our students are the lucky few who defy the statistics, and that this is an issue for other people’s classrooms.

  But we are most likely wrong.

  A study published in JAMA Pediatrics in 2014 found that 5 percent of American children experienced abuse. That number is based on cases confirmed by Child Protective Services between 2004 and 2011. But the study’s researchers made sure to point out that the actual number of children mistreated at some point before the age of eighteen was probably much larger. Approximately one in eight children will experience some form of abuse or neglect in their own home.