Today my boy should be celebrating his 20th birthday with us, which is so hard to fathom. Two whole decades of life, but we barely started the second one before we had to say a permanent goodbye this side of heaven when he was just 12 years old. What we wouldn’t give to be able to have him here, but we know that heaven is real, and this separation from him is temporary. We are clinging to the hope and promise of forever spent with him…what a glad reunion day that will be!
When I interviewed for a part-time teaching position at a charter school back in the summer of 2021, one of the things that was brought to my attention while sitting at a round conference table was that I would be a good fit as an advisor for their Hope Squad, a peer-to-peer based suicide awareness and prevention group. I immediately said yes, and shortly thereafter was introduced to the advisor who was the high school guidance counselor. Since I was only there part-time that first year while teaching two classes in the afternoon, I didn’t really feel like a part of the school. It was hard building connections with students and staff, but I trusted that those would come in time. Meanwhile, the counselor would often get pulled away at the last minute to deal with a situation right before our Hope Squad meetings would start, and that would leave me in a panic as I didn’t really know what to do. I had the curriculum that I was trained to implement, but she didn’t follow that curriculum, and I didn’t want to rock the boat. Members would meet and talk about things they wanted to do, but nothing ever got approved, and there was no sense of direction or urgency.
The next year I met with the principal and said I wasn’t going to be a part of something that was half-a$$, so he could find someone else to replace me. I could fail at a lot of things, but I couldn’t fail at that, so it was best for me to just step aside. He disagreed and wound up assigning the counselor to another organization and made me the sole advisor. I was determined to make this work. I had received training in the summer of 2021 by the man who founded the Hope Squad, Dr. Gregory Hudnall, a former Utah school superintendent. I’m attaching a news segment that was featured on the NBC Nightly News with Lester Holt that explains how it came to fruition and what we do as a Hope Squad.
That first year leading the squad was dismal. We only had 12 students, and while they were eager to do stuff, it was still hard to get admin approvals. Many ideas were shut down because we couldn’t mention “suicide.” Even though that’s what we were- a suicide awareness and prevention group, our charter school is k-12, and all students share hallways, the cafeteria, and the auditorium. We did what we could while vowing the next year to promote the squad and keep fighting to have our voices heard.
Last year was pretty productive and what I consider to be our official first year as we started consistently teaching lessons and planning activities. We had a great Hope Week back in February to “shine a light on mental health.” Students paid $1 to wear yellow, and we did a carnation flower fundraiser sale to have stems delivered to 4th block classes with positive messages attached. We sponsored a coloring contest where students used pages from an adult coloring book with inspirational quotes and displayed them on the glass wall leading into the cafeteria. Students painted gratitude rocks and made friendship bracelets at lunch. We started wearing official sweatshirts so students would recognize the squad and its members. Those members really started putting the QPR protocol in place- Question, Persuade, and Refer as they would bring names of students to my attention who were posting troubling things on social media or displaying warning signs that were taught in the lessons during meetings each week after school. Finally, I felt like we were starting to have an impact. I witnessed this first hand as one of the students who was referred to me happened to be my student. He was quiet but very smart. I never saw anything alarming, but he had been struggling quietly. Once he spoke with the guidance counselor and opened up to his family after his parents were notified, the mom reached out to me via email. In her message, she thanked me for bringing her son’s struggles to light and said they had a family meeting where the student and his older sibling who also attended the school really opened up and shared some things that made their jaws drop. They decided to get away as a family just to have quality time together, reset, and talk to one another. What a gift that turned out to be as the dad passed away less than a year afterwards.
This year we got a new principal, and we decided to press forward with all of our ideas. It was a “Go big or go home!” mentality, and much to our amazement, he has backed our efforts 100%. If he says no to something, he provides a logical reason, and that rarely happens. We continued our monthly activities at lunch, and one was even featured on the national advisor newsletter with an activity we deemed “The Semi-Colon Project.” Temporary tattoos were given out at lunch that included the semi-colon. Its message is powerful as a period indicates the end of a sentence, whereas a semi-colon is a continuation. People often wear the semicolon as a sign that they are still here with us- their life didn’t end in despair. They kept going. We also got an Instagram page devoted to our Squad, and we have a member who is our Media Coordinator. She’s awesome at taking pics, promoting events, and sharing messages of hope. Anyone can join our page. The handle is hpahopesquad. The best news was that I got another advisor to help me- one that was “all in” unlike others who had been tasked with the responsibility. Mrs. Holly Pearson has a big heart, relates with students, is a great sounding board for me, has a degree in Graphic Design, and takes a lot of weight from my shoulders. We make a great team, and I can’t thank her enough for her input.
Each year, squads across the nation design activities for Hope Week. We do our week in February as it also coincides with the National Day of Hope. This year was our best yet and a true answer to prayer! On Monday, students paid $1 to dress with their clothes inside out to show that it’s OK not to have it all together some days. We were able to donate that money to the Humane Society as they came the next day to visit our school. On Tuesday, the representative brought a puppy and set up a table right outside the cafeteria with flyers for students to learn about volunteering and what the Humane Society is all about. It was a huge success! The rep later sent an email stating how impressed she was with our students and Hope Squad members and is looking forward to a continued partnership. We donated more money, and best yet, the puppy got adopted later on that day by one of our students! Pictured below is me wearing my sweater inside out and the puppy named Luciana.
Wednesday was the main event and highlight of the week as Dr. David Cox, a Christian life coach and counselor, came to our school and presented his message entitled “17 Minutes of Hope.” I can’t really even put into words the emotional impact of that morning, but because I write a blog, I have to try. I led the assembly by stating that mental health not only matters at our school, but it matters to me personally. I spoke about Carter and the ache we bear being left behind. I spoke about how it costs nothing to be kind and how we never know what others are going through. I then pleaded with students to reach out for help and reminded them that they are loved and the world is a better place with them in it.
Next up were some Hope Squad officers who made speeches about Hope Squad itself (why we do what we do) and Hope Week (recapping the events of the week). Dr. Cox was then invited to the podium, and you could’ve heard a pin drop throughout his message. Within just a few minutes into it, two students seated behind me started crying. It was evident that his words had found a landing spot. He shared about how his father had ended his life and the impact that had on him growing up and how he also had struggled with suicidal thoughts. He shared warning signs so that students would know what depression and anxiety “looks like” beyond what commercials depict. My principal texted and said that there was no reason for him or for the assistant principal to say anything during or after the assembly, as it had been excellent so far and there was no need for them to take anything away from it.
Towards the conclusion of the message he invited students to respond while all eyes were closed and heads bowed by lifting their hands as he described three main groups his message was intended for – Group 1 were those struggling and in a dark place who had thoughts of suicide, Group 2 were those like him and myself who had lost someone to suicide and battled feelings of anger and abandonment, and Group 3 were those who were concerned about others. As he called out each group, hands went up across the student body. Teachers, staff, and Hope Squad members had been asked to gather at the front as hands were raised so they would be able to speak with those who decided to come forward. The teacher standing beside me audibly gasped as she saw some of her students raise their hands- she had no idea they were struggling. Many came forward that morning – so much so that I gathered them out in the lobby that led into the auditorium, and a guidance counselor took them to a classroom to speak with them and make sure they were OK before they returned to class. To lighten the mood at the assembly’s conclusion, we played Minute to Win It games which seemed to be a hit as students eagerly participated and smiles were had by everyone.
On Thursday we hosted a free dress day where no money was collected at the door- students could wear Valentine’s attire proudly. Carnations sold out at lunch and those that were preordered were delivered to classes before afternoon dismissal. Hope Week ended on a sweet-smelling, high note!
My principal stopped by my room the afternoon of the assembly to check in with me and gather my thoughts. It had been an emotional day, and I was seated at my desk with my head bowed, a headache brewing and exhaustion setting in. I was physically and emotionally drained. I immediately started tearing up because I felt the weight of what had happened earlier in the day. I knew we had identified struggling students, but I also knew there were more who hadn’t come forward, and I was worried about them. My heart just felt heavy. In an effort to ease my mind, he told me that several who had actually come forward probably weren’t in any danger- they were attention-seeking students who were prone to emotional antics and just got caught up in the moment. I told him that was fair. I taught a few of them and had the same impression. However, after thinking about it some more and processing through the day, I likened it to a religious experience when an altar call is given- an invitation to receive Christ is extended at the end of a service, and some come forward seeking help and pleading to God for salvation. Not every heart is truly changed. They come weeping at the altar and then return to their pews chomping on Juicy Fruit having been caught up in the emotional experience of the preaching but not truly repentant. They exit the building the same as they entered, and it’s life as they knew it for the rest of the day and every day afterwards. No change.
However, you’ll never poo poo on my parade and convince me that lives weren’t impacted and possibly even saved during that assembly. I had one student email me with the subject line “Suicidal Thoughts.” He went on to share that although he hadn’t come forward, he had been struggling for a long time with wanting to hurt himself after he had lost two family members who were dear to him, and he wanted to let me know. I immediately notified admin and guidance, and shortly thereafter the counselor came to my room and asked if she could bring the student to me while she counseled him. I said of course, and she brought him a few minutes later as I was a trusted person in his life, and my classroom was a safe place. He would sometimes come to me to eat his lunch when the cafeteria was overwhelming. He was so broken with the weight of the world on his shoulders as he sat at a desk with tears streaming down his face. He wasn’t one to use words due to some special needs, but he could write beautifully. I asked if we gave him a sheet of paper would he write down his answers to the questions that were posed? He nodded and then proceeded to write down statements that would break your heart. I won’t share them on here to maintain his privacy, but by the end of that afternoon, his mom was contacted, resources were shared, and it was agreed that formal therapy would resume.
The next morning, the resource assistant teacher came to me and said he had a lightbulb moment when thinking about ways to help that student. What if we got him connected to the Humane Society? What if he could start volunteering with the animals? I said that would be an awesome idea, and we went online to find the application. By the end of the day, the student came to me in the hallway BEAMING and shared that he was going to start volunteering. He made a full sentence using his words, which just shows how remarkable that was for him. I’m so amazed at how things turned out and look forward to hearing all about it once he completes his training.
Some students opted out of the assembly (we had given the option to opt-out per the recommendation by Dr. Cox), and so did some teachers who thought it would be too hard to sit through. While their feelings are valid, I would argue that it’s even harder losing a loved one to suicide because nobody took the time to start a conversation. It’s harder looking in the eyes of someone at a graveside not knowing what to say because at that point, there’s nothing TO say. Their loved one is dead. It’s harder staring at a casket knowing your loved one is in it. It’s harder staring at their face, trying to memorize every freckle, every mole, every crinkle under their eye, the texture of their hair, and the outline of their lips knowing that is the last time you’ll ever see them. It’s harder to have to walk away as the lid to that casket closes and then at the graveside that same casket is lowered into the ground…a ground that is unforgiving and harsh. THAT is hard. Sitting through an assembly while feeling emotions that are uncomfortable as difficult topics are addressed is not hard, but I get it. Some people just don’t know what they don’t know, and I pray they don’t ever have to.
Dear Carter,
I have devoted this post to summarize the events of this past week as we aimed to bring suicide awareness and prevention to our school, but I also knew that towards the end of the post I would dedicate a letter to you, my sweet boy. Therefore, I’m writing this part of the post now as we wait for the rain to settle down, and we can go outside to the cemetery where your precious earthly remains lie to release 20 balloons and sing Happy Birthday to you. Carsen is finally napping, and the house is quiet, so I’m writing to you while the minutes tick by. Sometime within this letter, the stovetop clock is going to show me that it’s 4:33 PM, and that’s when 20 years ago today I gave that final push with every bit of strength I had left to get you here, and just like that, son, my life forever changed. I called you a “little bird” that first day afterwards in the hospital because your little lips would pucker up and open and close trying to find your food source, and you had tufts of the blackest, sweetest hair I’d ever seen on a newborn. You would open those tiny, dark eyes and squint, and it was all I could do not to kiss those squishy cheeks off. That little spot between your neck and shoulder was my favorite- so soft and fragile and smelled so good. My, how beautiful you were! I know all Mamas say that, but you truly were a bundle of joy and wonder to behold.
That day is the highlight of my life, son. It’s the day I became a mother, and I’ll carry those moments in my heart forever- beginning with the ride home from the hospital feeling terrified of what we were going to do once we got you there (I was only 23, and the hospital thought I knew what to do to keep you safe and healthy- what the heck?) and that first night with you fussing and sleeping on my chest on the couch. I knew you were hungry, but my milk hadn’t come in, so I kept trying to give you a paci per the recommendations because we couldn’t get the hang of you latching onto me. Your little dry, tearless cries broke my heart. I finally caved the next day and made you a bottle- my baby was hungry and I didn’t care what the “experts” said- I was your Mama and was going with my gut, and my gut said to make you a bottle. You drank and slept like a rock. Well, more like a worm scrunched under a rock with your little body curved on itself, hands bunched into little wrinkly fists in a onesie that had pockets covering your hands so you wouldn’t scratch your face (your fingernails were paper-thin, and I was scared to try and cut them). Later on I’d rock you to sleep in my living room glider to the soft melodies of Norah Jones with you snuggled under the tiniest little light blue fleece blanket that had only cost $1 at Wal-Mart but would become one of your prized possessions as you carried it everywhere later on through the years.
You gave me such a full life, Carterbug- 12 years and 5 months spent with the bestest boy. My heart is shattered without you here with me because I know that at 20 years old today, you’d be in the middle of your sophomore year in college and at the top of the Dean’s List, no doubt. It’d be somewhere like Duke, Wofford, or the College of Charleston, and you’d be majoring in history, aviation, or political science. You’d be absolutely ecstatic over the presidency and the MAGA agenda (a Kennedy in the administration and everything!), yet you’d also be tender-hearted and attentive to those less fortunate with a listening ear and servant’s heart to make this world a better place with your kind soul and generous spirit.
Man alive, son. We just hurt without you here. I just whispered a Happy Birthday rendition to you while typing this at the kitchen table as the clock showed 4:33 PM. The vision of you sitting here while blowing out 20 candles would be my ultimate dream come true. I don’t want anything else but you, Carterbug. That’s all that is missing from my life- I have everything else I could possibly ever want or need. God’s blessings have been abundant. I just want you.
I’m sending you all my love to heaven today and wishing you a happy birthday. Thank you for sending signs to me this week letting me know you were with me. I can still hear your laughter, giggles, and sweet voice that hadn’t yet gotten mature enough to deepen. No doubt your voice would be one of the best in our church choir, and you’d probably be doing piano and violin solos with a humble spirit and a face bright with freckles and dimples as the congregation would tell you how much they enjoyed your music. I’m content at the thought of you singing with the angels, though, because I know you have a song that is one they can’t sing- a song of redemption and of the saving grace of a loving Savior. Keep singing, my sweet boy.
Until We Meet Again, (boop!)
Mama
Love, Loss, and Blue Butterflies 