It's been a bit of a week. And that might be a bit of an understatement.
If you know me (and if you read this you probably do. I mean, come on, I'm not David Sedaris or Anna Quindlen. But every gal needs a hobby. I could go back to crocheting or binge-watching "Criminal Minds," but this seems all right), you know that in my life there is a tier of my heart reserved for a unique blend of former students who become close friends. We all have a caste system of relationships: the inner circle, the good friends, the fringe peeps, the people we wished we knew better, the people who like us and we can't say the same. For me, there is another key grouping: the former students/lifetime friends.
In the last week I lost two of them. I wrote about the horrific loss of Steven on December 3. My tears and heartache were still ripe when I heard the news that Shane was gone.
Shane was 21. He graduated in 2013. For four years this intelligent, funny, talented guy made Parkview Speech and Debate his second home. He had a deeply understated, ironic sense of humor. He would say "Wedge" with a tinge in his voice that promised respect and asked "can you believe you have to put up with some of this *^%#*?" He was calm, and his demeanor had an effect on me for which other students and I were most grateful: as my heart rate and temper would elevate, Shane could show up, speak up, and I would decelerate.
He wasn't needy. He didn't seem to crave my attention or the attention of anyone. His observations of life were pee-your-pants funny and he wasn't even trying. He played the ukelele and guitar and wrote songs on the spot and I've never laughed so hard.
It's tempting to romanticize those we've lost. All of a sudden a lukewarm personality or wit becomes a force of nature who lit up the room. Or a fine fellow with a marginal intellect becomes a standout. The thing about Shane is that there is no need to embellish. He was this quiet, brilliant, wildly gifted human being who wasn't long for this world.
I sat at his funeral today on a pew with a select handful of my former students/lifelong friends, some of whom are among the most important people in my life. All of whom mean so much to me. Shane meant so much to all of us. Together we mourned him. We listened as tributes were read, scriptures quoted, hymns sung. At one point, the pastor referenced Shane's debating and speaking skills, saying how much "I wish Shane was here," acknowledging the class and command he would have brought to the podium.
A sob rose out of my gut then. I heard the pain on that pew as well, to my left, to my right.
We wish he was here, too.
It's been a bit of a week. That might be a bit of an understatement. But what can't be overstated is that the pain of the loss highlights the wonder of the living. There is irony in that. And beauty.
Shane would like that.
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