During the time span of March-May of this year, I had the pleasure of student teaching a class of juniors at a high school I graduated from.

I was scared, excited, anxious and exhausted all rolled into one overworked college student. For this particular semester, I was required to video record myself teaching said class to display my teaching abilities. I had chosen one of the periods to teach and began practicing. I tried to connect with the students, taking the time to talk to them and learn more about their lives, especially those in my focus group.

I didn't focus on my assigned class as I'd have liked to due to the short time I was there and the urgent deadlines we were all faced with- mine being college-related and theirs being testing related, more specifically the ACT and their senior year coming up. I remember still joking around with them and talking to them, wanting to get to know them before I would leave and they would move on to be seniors.

After my semester concluded, I submitted my work and prepared myself for the fall semester, when I would return to the incoming group of juniors to teach for my last set of evaluations for my degree. This would mean new faces, new names, and new stories.

On my second day returning to my mentor teacher's classroom, she regretfully informed me that one week prior, one of the students I had taught in my focus group had committed suicide. She showed me the program from his funeral sitting on her desk, his cheerful smile frozen on a page with the far too short "2001-2018" listed below it.
I was in shock. I'd just seen him laughing and talking not 4 months prior and now he'd never get to buy a lottery ticket or fall in love.
I told myself I had no right to feel upset- I hadn't even known him for 2 months and had only spoken to him a handful of times. But still, I felt this aching feeling I'd done something wrong.

His mother woke up that Monday morning with n empty bed and picture frames on walls that seemed to glare down at her to remind her of words unsaid and conflicts left unresolved. His father, a police officer, was forced to face that not everyone can be saved, not even the ones we love most.

His two younger brothers were left confused and heartbroken, their friend and comrade in life suddenly pulled from them.

While most everyone thinks of the families and friends of the deceased when something tragic like this happens, far too often they forget to consider the ones who see them nearly every day, 5 days a week, 180+ days out of the year: their teachers.

So, to my student who will not get to walk alongside his class, I am so sorry we didn't see your pain or give you the help you needed and deserved. Although we won't get to see you get your diploma, get married, or see life past these walls, we will look at each student and try our hardest to see their pain, no matter how deeply it is hidden. We will see your empty desk and see an opportunity for improvement both inside and outside of the classroom.

Because of you, we will be better.