Loss, Hope, and Pride

Today was a sad day at my high school. At the end of third hour, our principle announced the loss of one of our freshman students, his name was Martin. From the announcement, I learned that Martin had been in band and that he was a vibrant wonderful young boy. This was evident as the classes poured out after the bell had rung, an eerie silence settling over the narrow hallways, and downward glances couldn't hide the tears stuck in so many students' throats. I like to think that this silence was the sound of 2000 ears listening for Martin's voice, hoping it would resound once more. The silence spread across the lawn at lunch, an unusual and unsettling sound in a place that is so often filled with raucous joy. There were few words to be said over our meal, and instead we simply peered at circles of warriors, weeping, remembering, and comforting one another with hugs and pats. Counselors patrolled the campus, giving a much needed hug to any student with tears in their eyes and shocked expressions. The girls bathroom was rife with more tears, and it was a very hard place to be for long. I did not know Martin, in fact I had never heard his name, and yet it stuck to my thoughts like a leech all day long, often bringing me to tears at his mention, or at another student's pain. It is hard to describe the feeling of walking into a hushed classroom and noticing a red wet face huddled under the comforting arm of a caring teacher. It is hard to describe the lump in my throat when I looked up to see the stars on the ceiling, in place for wish week, turned into memorials for a lost life, so many testimonies to a wonderful life young man. Every tear, every hug, every exclamation of grief and pain was felt in the hearts of every student, and I have never before felt as if my breaths and thoughts matched precisely those of the strangers I shared the hallway with. I am touched and saddened by Martin's passing, and all I can say in his memory is that I have never been more proud to be a warrior.