I was planning on my next update for this blog to cover week 2 of my time here, our excursion to the Israeli-Lebanese border, to the South and more. But as I was so clearly reminded, life does not always go as planned.

Last night, I received an email that broke my heart. I haven’t really been checking my work email, but I had this nagging feeling to do so last night when I finally got some internet. When I opened it, there was an email from my principal breaking the news that a student in our school who has been fighting Lymphoma cancer since October passed away a few days ago. Some of you may remember me telling you about this student, his name is Traig, a 6th grader who in October was diagnosed with cancer.

I am shocked and devastated. Less than 4 weeks ago, he was fine. I remember him that last week of school, giving him a hug, wishing him a great summer and hearing about how they were going to take a vacation. I am incredibly heartbroken for him, for his family, for his sister and for my students.

When we found out in October about his diagnosis, our school immediately sprung into action. The staff began a meal-drive in which teachers took turns cooking dinners for the family. As I teach all students at my school, I teach Traig but his sister was also in my after-school dance company. So for our winter dance concert, I decided to have it as a fundraiser for their family. The amount of support from this community was amazing, as I was making the announcement about collecting donations; people began pulling out their wallets. This community who has a hard enough time making ends-meet donated so much more to this family than I ever imagined. It was beautiful, exactly what a community is. The students in our school started a Penny drive for Cancer patients, with Traig as their hero in the cause. The students were involved in supporting Traig during his fight. But Traig was getting better, he would come to school when he could and by spring he was dancing it up in class, laughing with his friends and full of energy again. He was such an attentive student, one of my best 6th graders; always willing to try dance, the first to step up to be the leader in his group for group projects, encouraging the other boys to dance. He was such an energetic and positive child.

It still is so unbelievable. And honestly, putting poetic writing aside--it flat out sucks. He was an 11 year-old, still so young, so full of dreams and potential. It makes me sick to think of the life he will not get to live.

Being overseas, alone and away from my home community is not easy in a time like this. One of my first thoughts after the initial shock was about my students, how they will cope with this, how they are coping with this. I thought of his sister, who I became close with this year. She struggled with processing this whole situation all year and I talked with her often, giving her attention and support that she was needing. When I read this news, I immediately wanted to give her a hug. But I can’t. That breaks my heart even more. How do I properly process this, how do I grieve in an environment that is already emotionally intense and exhausting? How do I find time for myself to process all of these thoughts and grief when I’m constantly surrounded by students, roommates and teachers? How do I slow down to just think when our days are so full? And how do I stay in the present teaching the children here when right now my heart is back in DC, wanting to be with my students, helping them cope with this? It kills me that I can not be there on Wednesday with them for his service. I’m honestly worried about them. This is so hard to process as an adult, how are these children handling it?

And of course, this was the week I was planning on starting my letter-exchange project. Today, we actually started it. I had my students in DC write letters to the children here and I am planning on doing a letter-writing unit in which these children will write back to the kids in DC. I have planned lessons for this week on comparing culture in America and DC to the culture of Lebanon and Shatila. Just Friday as I was planning, I was so excited to tell the children here about my kids in DC, and I realized how much I really did miss my DC students. How I couldn’t wait to tell them about my time here.

Today was a rough day but I got through it. My fellow program members have been great and supportive. At first, it was hard to say anything as saying it makes it so much real and it also feels so uncomfortable to explain, bringing a negative energy into a room. But I’ve already had a few relate to me, especially with the grieving process while being away and separated from the people and community that you need to grieve with. And honestly, focusing on teaching today, helped distract me and keep my mind going in a positive way. But I do need to reflect and I want to but not take away from my purpose here.

So starting today, the rest of this experience, the remainder of my teaching days, these lesson plans I am writing are for Traig. This loss has reminded me of how much my students mean to me, how much a part of my life they are. That my students help to define my community and my world. It may sound cheesy and “cliché” but I do not view my students as students but as my kids. As a teacher, I don’t believe I’m just teaching vocabulary words and dance steps to put on a performance. Teaching is so much more, it goes much deeper...but only if we allow ourselves as teachers to become more than a teacher. If we look at our profession as a calling, if we look at our job as a gift of responsibility that has been given to us, if we feel honored to have these children as a part of our lives and not just as data for testing statistics and as a means to receive a paycheck, if we open up ourselves as teachers it is then that our students become a part of us. They become a part of our world and are written into the story that is our life. They will hold a piece of our heart forever. Every single one of them.

Just like Traig. He will always be a part of my teaching. He will continue to fuel the fire of my passion and remind me of why I teach.

Even though my heart breaks and my mind still can't comprehend, I continue on. I put one foot in front of the other and focus on the task in front of me. Because life continues on and these beautiful children here deserve every ounce of my heart.