Death, Be Not Proud

     I knew it was going to happen just as soon as I saw the story on my newsfeed. Brittany Maynard, a 29-year-old woman had moved from California to Oregon in order to end her life. Granted, she is facing the possibility of a painful death after being diagnosed with an inoperable terminal brain tumor and so she went to a doctor who told her she met the criteria for the prescription of the "death pill." She is planning on taking them on November 1... a few weeks from now... after celebrating her husband's birthday.
     I knew that I would address it with my students. At first I thought I would simply make it a writing prompt, but then they started asking questions. Some of them had never heard of Maynard. I showed them the video of her interview and watched them watch her and it occurred to me that something was very wrong.
     Growing up in the 1980's and 1990's, it was a rite of passage to write a research paper, at some point, about euthanasia and Dr. Jack Kevorkian. Dr. Death, they called him, and despite having been thrown in jail three times, tried three times and acquitted three times, Dr. Kevorkian was determined that people should have the option of dying with dignity.
     Dr. Jack Kevorkian, old, blunt in speech and possessing eyes that seemed almost black was the face of "death with dignity" to me. Brittany Maynard, young, well-spoken and articulate and possessing a spirit for adventure was the face of "death with dignity" to the generation of students I taught... She was appealing and what she said seemed to make so much sense...
     Except for the student who was back at school for the first time after watching her aunt die from cancer. The death had lasted a week. There was no magic pill... and according to my student, there shouldn't be. "I am so grateful for every single minute I had with her," she tearfully explained to the class. "I am inspired by having watched her fight so hard."
     That was when things changed. The "what if's?" began circling overhead. What if she has more time than they think? What if they discover a treatment that works? What if she takes the pill and then changes her mind? What if the pill doesn't work like it's supposed to? What if the doctors are wrong? What if, her entire reason for being alive, the entire purpose of her life, is buried in what she perceives as something so insufferable and horrifying that she won't even give living a chance?
      There are so many layers to this happening. First, she speaks very passionately in the interview, which is actually a PSA for death with dignity (a phrase that I'm pretty sure is supposed to replace 'euthanasia'). She speaks about "seizing the day" and living each day with small goals in mind for "the time she has left." Yet she has already received the pills. Already decided on the day. Already asked her mother to meet her "spirit" on top of Machu Picchu. She is choosing to end her life and she explicitly says in an interview with People magazine that she does not want to die and does not have a suicidal cell in her body. She is merely choosing to pass on instead of suffering the consequences of a disease. Such a contradiction, and kind of a slap in the face to those who have lost a loved one to suicide due to depression. Does that make their grieving wrong? Does that make the choice that their loved one made suddenly acceptable and brave? Does it lessen the pain? No, and it never will.
     It will not be popular to speak out against Brittany. She is being perceived as brave, as a warrior, and as far as I am concerned she is, as is ANYONE who is ever diagnosed with any type of cancer. It's a horrible disease. I watched my brother nearly lose his life from stage 4 rectal cancer.  Last year, I sat with my father-in-law for weeks as he slowly moved past this world. To suggest that either one of them lacked dignity at any point in their fight for survival, whether it be lost or won, is ludicrous. They lacked neither dignity or bravery. And I treasured every moment of the last moments that my father-in-law was here.
     I have faced death. The birth of my son was a last ditch effort to save one of us; I was sick enough that they were certain I was going to either die or end up killing him simply by keeping him in my womb. I was ready to die for my son. I told the doctors if they had to choose one to save, save him. That doesn't make me better or braver than Brittany Maynard; that just makes me grateful that I had something worth fighting for.
     I told my students today that I didn't know what the right answer was. I explained to them that when I was their age, Dr. Kevorkian was considered a devil and euthanasia was not an even considered option, ever. I asked if they thought this was going to set a dangerous precedent, because what about people who are caretakers of others? Do they have the right to request the pill for their loved ones? I asked them if they understand that this was a very slick way for the media to make this a more palatable idea, to put a pretty face on an ugly idea? I asked them if they understood that this was a slippery slope and that a dangerous precedent could be set?
     Then I told them the God's honest truth. There is beauty to be found in everything. Sometimes you have to look; sometimes you have to wait; always you have to have faith. But there is beauty. And that is why I will mourn the death of Brittany Maynard because by doing this thing, she just may be missing out on the greatest beauty she would have ever known.

Present Perfect

     Times have changed, and not for the better. I live with photographical evidence of that fact in my classroom everyday. At any given time, I can pick a year and step back in time. I can lose myself in the crinolines and taffeta of the pristine prom of the 1950's or the committed and passionate protests of the '60's and '70's. That's the wonder of being the yearbook adviser. It's like every year has been cryogenically frozen and preserved and when this world is unpleasant I can simply slip into another year and get lost, absorbed in innocence, freedom from technology and what was pictured as a society and culture that raised generation after generation of citizens who cared about their country, their school and themselves.
   Today was one of those rare days where I didn't wander anywhere near the shelves holding those books, those portals that would sweep me into a "better" time. Today, in my little corner of the world, it was present perfect.
   It was student involvement day and my classroom was buzzing with a variety of students, seniors through sophomores who were slowly preparing to sell an idea they had themselves bought into: school spirit. I'm talking about old school school spirit - the kind that makes you hum along to "Be True To Your School," makes you want to own a letterman's sweater, makes you want to be somebody's "best girl" or "guy." See, a group of students had decided that they wanted to leave their mark on the school in a way that didn't involve the negativity that is plunked all over the media, that is touted as the "apathy of the millenials." They decided they wanted to breathe life back into the ghost of School Pride.
   Some of you may not understand why this is a big deal. Some of you won't care why this IS in fact a big deal. For those of you who haven't been in a modern high school, things have changed. Some might say they haven't changed for the better. Most would agree. I used to be one that would agree but Mexico High School has changed my mind.
   In so many ways, it must be understood that a school is like a church. You can build a building and call it a church. You can build a building and call it a school. But neither of them are truly the essence of their own meaning until they are inhabited. And let me tell you something about Mexico High School: it is being inhabited.
   We've seen glimpses in the past few years. Those students who grab hold of an idea and turn it into something living and breathing. We've seen the excitement for events and most importantly, the willingness to support those who are different. But this is something more, this is deeper, this is something that is going to resonate as you watch the sophomore student become enthusiastic about it because a senior student has invited them to become involved and passionate. This is... wait for it... epic.
   There were just a few at first, at the end of last year, who came to me and expressed that they thought the Dawg Pound, the unofficial student pep club, needed to become official and organized. It seemed like a good idea at the time... which is also the unofficial story of my life, so I said I would sponsor them. Hundreds of spirit bracelets, posters, tweets and QR codes later, we offered our idea up to the student body today at student involvement day. The students, they came... but it didn't have anything to do with the bracelets or the tweeting. It started way before we did...
   The feeling of our school has changed. Something about it has become more genuine, more caring, more student-friendly. You find it odd that a school wasn't student-friendly? If you want to know the main problem with education today, it is that most schools are not student-friendly. But what is happening at Mexico High School isn't just the students catching on to the school spirit idea.
   The teachers are trying new things, getting brave, going out on a limb to engage students. The teachers are smiling at each other, fellowshipping with one another and creating an atmosphere that speaks to students of acceptance and respect. And those students will mirror what they will see. The administrators are supporting the teachers and the students. It didn't happen over night and in all truth it could end tomorrow. But I don't think it will...
   Not when you have a football team that arranges a fundraiser for their opponent's coach's wife who has cancer; or when you have an organization that is forming with the purpose of making sure there is a network of support among community members, school officials and local businesses who can meet the need of a student or family with immediacy. It won't end, not when you have teachers working so hard to find ways to help make their students succeed not only now but in the future, and parents who are so supportive and involved that they can walk down the halls and speak to every kid they meet by name.
   See, those are signs of a great school, the kind of idyllic school pictured in those old yearbooks with the perfectly coiffed young ladies and the handsome, smiling young men who look like they took the time to iron their clothes every single school day. We'll never be able to go back to that; we know way too much to go back to that. But what really mattered to me today as I cut out little strips of paper to staple to bracelets and stapled the football coach's face to a paint stick was that I really didn't want to be anywhere or any when but right then and right there. It seems that after so many years, we are finally reaching the edge of present perfect.