Life is paradoxical and the earlier we learn that and embrace this complex concept, the more we grow in understanding. Light needs shades of darkness to make forms visible. Every tear of sadness has a wellspring of hope. Every death brings new understanding of life and resurrects within us a profound sense of curiosity that begs us to go deeper. Every mustard seed of faith can be watered to bloom even though doubt sometimes casts a shadow and tries to stifle its growth. Our desire creates suffering and our suffering creates yearning for connection which usually takes root.
A few weeks ago, my principal called me to the hallway and walked me over to the class pictures that are displayed outside the office. He pointed his finger to the top row in the Class of 2022 and calmly and quietly said, “One of our alums was killed last weekend.” I was horrified and gasped knowing full well who he was pointing out. Ronald was in my period 4 Theology class in the first year I taught at my school. He was one of those students with a lot of energy who tested my patience, but once we came to an understanding, and we were able to get on the same page, he endeared himself to me.
I’d give him roles to keep him busy until he got bored and just sat down and did his work. I’d send him on errands to redirect his energy. He was smart and the kudos I delivered weren’t lost on him. He ate up praise and savored the delight of it trying harder and harder to please me throughout the year to receive more recognition.
He was a heavy-set kid who spoke with a stutter sophomore year, but by senior he took that frenetic youthful energy and channeled it into working out and he was the picture of health the last time I saw him and managed his words well. I can still remember him standing in the sun-dappled lobby of the atrium smiling with that devil may care attitude and twinkle in his smiling eyes as he told me what was happening with his life and his friends, and how he was trying to get through school to make something of himself.
January 31st, there were reports of gunshots in the Forest Hills neighborhood of Cleveland. When the police arrived, they found Ronald’s car crashed into a telephone pole. He was pronounced dead at the scene.
I attended his wake and can’t remember everything I saw, but I know how I felt as I walked into Calhoun’s funeral home on Lake Shore Blvd on this dreary Friday. I tried to prepare myself for the suffering I was about to encounter, but no matter how prepared we are to receive death, we are never prepared and there’s usually something happening waiting to clock you into a new reality. All we can do is confront it, own it and see what it teaches us.
I couldn’t find the room and it was a busy day at the funeral home. I slowly walked down the end of the hallway and a woman was draped over a gray coffin, her silky black hair veiling the body. I saw a television with images being displayed of Ronald and knew I was in the right place. An R&B praise song played, as I saw a few former colleagues and our president sitting vigil in the back two rows. I wandered to the back, sat and watched the images of his short life flash on the screen – childhood pictures, milestones, graduations and family picnics, pictures of better days.
I can’t describe the rest of the room, but I know what I felt as it was visceral. There was a deep thick void that presented itself. I can only describe the room as a stew of pain in a cauldron of grief. People were huddling up and comforting his grieving mother in the corner. There were bursts of emotion and keening as an individual collapsed into the arms of someone helping her in front of the casket. We all brought our pain with us this day and at times it came to the surface and expressed itself in the form of tears and sobs. Then things would calm down and sniffles filled the void of human silence as the song continued to play.
I walked to the casket following a former colleague and her husband. She was in tears and her husband clutched her in his arms. I looked at the corpse of my 21 year old former student. He had a strange look of peace on his face – a slight smile. It was as if he knew a trick the world didn’t know and he wasn’t going to share it. He wore a black coat with a clean white shirt, one he must have worn to go clubbing. His short-cropped beard and hair appeared freshly cut, his hands clutched the blanket that covered his legs.
I wandered over to his mother and the tears started to flow, as I told her I was her son’s theology teacher. I took her in my arms and hugged her. She held me tight. I felt as though there was a point in our embrace where our roles reversed and she was comforting me. I couldn’t find the words. I asked her if she knew she “has a community” to support her? She nodded “yes” and thanked me for being there. The day’s stress was evident in her posture as she tried to stand strong and wear a proud face. I stood in her presence speechless and we held the place of grief together in silence for a moment. Two people sad and confused not knowing what to say or do, but it didn’t matter. It may have been the most present I’ve ever felt.
I shook the hand of the man standing next to her and walked back to my seat and sobbed out loud. The air from my lungs just forced out all the tension I was feeling. It was as if I was expelling Ronald’s mother’s sadness in an attempt to reconcile my mind with the madness of a senseless death. The tears just flowed. My former colleague’s husband found a tissue for her from the antique love seat in the front row and then brought me two tissues as well. We were speechless.
Ronald’s mother slowly walked to the casket supported by the man whose hand I shook. She gently caressed her baby’s face and hair over and over again like she was preparing him to meet someone. I could only imagine what was running through her mind.
As I left the funeral home, a man sitting on a chaise lounge in the lobby saw I was upset. He extended his hand and assured me, “It’s going to be all right.” I knew I needed something hopeful, so I drove a bit dazed to a championship game for our school happening at the Tri-C East Campus. I used to teach at this campus and hadn’t been in the building for over 25 years. I didn’t even recognize it.
The game was what everyone needed. I saw some kids wearing red and sweaters with hearts for Valentine’s Day. Munching on chips, cheering on their team with the only care being a victory, we came out on top and won our first championship. It was exciting to witness. The students sang the alma mater, took team pictures and one by one they cut down the net. This is life. Life rolled right along and the bonds of victory temporarily replaced the sadness of suffering. Ronald’s life wasn’t on the minds of many of those players, but it was on the mind of his former teacher the head coach.
A day of sadness and joy called out the nature of paradox. In a whirl of chaos, on a day dedicated to love, the two were intermingled and became one.
spirit beat 