Remembering James
“As we remember James, we hope for peace, strength and courage to rise above the sadness and confusion.”
This afternoon at Lincoln-Sudbury there was a rememberance ceremony for the boy who was killed at the high school on January 19. In the three weeks that have gone by the kids at that school have truly risen to the occasion, and things have gone back to normal as much as they possibly can. I didn’t quite know what to expect during the service, and the reason I went, besides being part of the service, was because my son plays in the concert band (as did James) and I wanted to see him. I didn’t see him, I was in the wrong seat, but my other son, Matthew, who was next to me claimed he saw Michael’s head. I believe him.
With a picture of a young James projected on a large screen, the service began with Katie Lee Crane, Minister of the First Parish Church in Sudbury telling us to remember what happened that day. Where we were when it happened, how we heard the news, words that were exchanged…I knew him…I didn’t know him…What if it was me…I’m glad it wasn’t me…I can’t believe this happened…I wish this never happened. I have to say she cut to the core very quickly and I didn’t expect it. Then the concert band played a fittingly somber version of Amazing Grace. I wish I knew who did the clarinet solo, she was so moving.
Two teachers and a student got up to speak and things got very intense. The first teacher, who is Michael’s social studies teacher, Ms. Meskoob, got as far as saying she knew how much she loved her students but didn’t know how much so until she lost one. Then she broke down completely, leaving James’ Spanish teacher to read what she had written. Dan, James friend, put his arm around Ms. Meskoob. Very touching moment. Each of them said something from each of James’ teachers…their last interactions with him, the type of student he was. And everyone talked about his smile…how he enjoyed a good laugh. Most heartening was when Dan read remembrances that students handed in about James. James was a Patriots fan and was excited about the upcoming Patriots Colts game, which he never lived to see. Another talked of his helping them with homework in Science and Math, of which he was an excellent student. The overall impression I got was that James was a quiet, kind kid who smiled easily and took things in. There were several that he read and frankly I don’t know how he got through it. But he did. Once Ms. Meskoob regained her composure she said some closing words. By this point we were all sobbing, but only I had a 10 year old next to me patting my back.
The minister then offered a moment of quiet time to “reflect on what we are feeling at this moment”. It was helpful as it gave us a chance to catch our breath. She invited anyone up to say something they might want to say. This part was kind of creepy. This boy got up and he looked just like the killer except he didn’t wear glasses. The killer’s name is Jack and this kids name was Jack. He said they were in Spanish class together and he didn’t know him that well but wished he had. His words were nice but his resemblance to the boy who did it took my breath away. And then the minister asked us to remember that losing James wasn’t the only tragedy in this. That Jack was a tragic figure as well and we need to remember him and his family right now. And to think about what circumstances in his life allowed for this to happen. The service closed with the Band playing something called “Aeries’ Theme” from Final Fantasy, which was a favorite of James’.
Afterward there was a reception and I got a chance to speak with Dr. Ritchie, our stellar superintendant/principal, and thank him for all he’s done. Boy has he aged in 3 weeks. He said he couldn’t take credit…he gave the credit to teachers and parents and of course his students. He chatted with my Matthew for a little bit “Which school are you in” he asked. “Peter Noyes Elementary, 5th grade” answered efficient Matthew, which brought a smile to Dr. R’s face. “We’ll see you in 4 years”.
On the way back to the car, Michael pointed out the bathroom it happened in. I could envision the scenario, as it was off the beaten path a little bit, next to a girls room and a utility closet with the library nearby. Not many classrooms nearby. I could see where it would be an abandoned area at 7:20 in the morning. “There were teachers standing here and here” Michael pointed out to us, “you couldn’t come down here”. Matthew shrugged. We all looked at the floor as if there still might be evidence laying around. To anyone walking into that school it would be just another hallway.
And so closes another chapter. There were no family members of James there. They have kept such a low profile through this whole thing. No negative comments to the press or anything to the press for that matter. ‘How do they get up every day’ a mother asked me as we were walking out. I said they have no choice, they have two other children they are raising. But it’s a valid question…when the shock eventually wears off, and the cards stop coming in, and the press goes away, then what? I suppose that’s when the grieving begins and gravity kicks in and you go on just because that’s what you do.
Again, I don’t know what to say. Another very moving day. Thank you so much for the account.
Comment by Jennifer — February 12, 2007 @ 7:01 pm
So well reported, my friend. I know the day has not been easy. Thank you.
Comment by FierceBaby — February 12, 2007 @ 7:07 pm
Moving account of another chapter of that story, a sad one for sure. Thanks, Chris.
Comment by anon — February 12, 2007 @ 8:23 pm
Hey mom, I read this outloud to Kristin just now. We agree you are an excellent, vivid storyteller. I can envision your night in my head. Love you
Caroline
Comment by Caroline — February 12, 2007 @ 11:45 pm
Chris, a hugely generous and engrossing contribution. Once again, thanks for carrying us along with you. Truth be told, I’d all but forgotten about James and Jack and the repercussions of their tragic tale, and it’s key that those living with this represence us on the fringes. So well-told, too, though more to the point is the expansive telling, which doesn’t just inform but takes us there. Thanks.
Comment by adam — February 13, 2007 @ 6:52 am
Caroline, I’ve been telling your mom for years what an “excellent, vivid storyteller” she is.
Comment by michael — February 13, 2007 @ 7:42 am
Caroline, so have I. And having been an acquiring editor at one point in my life did not feel off base suggesting that she should think about pursuing a wider audience, like say a column in the Globe! She said no, but I think she was wrong.
Comment by FierceBaby — February 13, 2007 @ 7:51 am
I’m particularly impressed that you brought your younger son with you. The first reaction is to shield little ones from such atrocities, but you have wisely chosen to inform him and include him in the healing process. That he can give comfort is a sign of maturity beyond his years. Give Matthew a pat on the back for me.
Great writing. Tears are flowing here. This child’s death serves to reminds me that every day is truly a gift. I’m going to go about my business mindfully aware of this gift today and everyday. Excuse me, I have to go call my children.
Comment by Jen — February 13, 2007 @ 9:43 am
Thank you all for the kind words. I had been reasonably able to not think about this daily and it was hard to re-visit. And it’s just got me thinking so much about the people directly involved and how it will never go away for them.
Jen, I had my doubts about bringing Matthew, only because I knew I would be crying and he doesn’t like it when I cry. But he would have come home to an empty house if I hadn’t pulled him from school, so that’s why I brought him. He really listened. When the minister said “remember where you were when you heard” he leaned in to me and said “I remember where I was”. So he has been in on it from the get go. Being only ten, I think the high school is this huge place far away to him…so he’s safe. Though he did struggle with whether to use the bathroom at his school or not.
And yes, everyday is a gift.
This blog has been so useful to me in writing about this. It’s not often that one has a first person view into the window of a tragedy…(thank goodness)…for myself I had to do something with that window.
Comment by Chris — February 13, 2007 @ 12:20 pm
Sure enough, I got a call at 9:50 this morning.
Love you too mom.
Comment by Hil K — February 13, 2007 @ 12:30 pm
Okay, I’m at work and now I’m crying!
Comment by Chris — February 13, 2007 @ 12:43 pm
I add my thanks to Adam and others for “taking us there”. How different from the detatched “objective” pap you read in a typical a newspaper article.
I agree with FB, Michael, and Caroline: write a column–maybe for the Sudbury Journal?
Comment by smiling Dan — February 15, 2007 @ 9:32 am
Storytelling I can do though interesting stories to tell are few and far between. I can’t imagine being a ‘real’ writer as it entails way too much discipline which is sorely lacking in me these days. I would resort to plagarism and not be clever enough to hide it (like that New York Times guy, or even that Boston Globe guy-good writers both). But I appreciate the compliments and hope the next good story in me is very different from this one.
Comment by LaRad — February 15, 2007 @ 3:15 pm
Amen.
Comment by anon — February 15, 2007 @ 5:18 pm
I would give a lot to read that burning-down-the-backyard story again!
Comment by FierceBaby — February 16, 2007 @ 7:52 pm
“A Spreading Fire”
I set my backyard on fire today. No kidding, the hill was ablaze as were Mark’s eyes. I was burning leaves and it was too windy and before I knew it poof. The firemen came and put it out. My nerves. I was humiliated. So I am never leaving the house again. All I could envision were the trees in my neighbors yard going up. She’d never speak to me again. Fire chief was very kind. “Yup, it was a spreading fire” he said. And lucky me will be able to read about it in the paper next week. The hill is such a lovely charred sight right now. Hopefully the greenery will come in.
Val’s Response
So I’m telling my sister Valerie about “the hill incident” as it will now be known and when she stopped laughing she very seriously said “You were cleaning up your yard?”. That was even more amusing to her than the incident. She of little faith.
Comment by michael — February 16, 2007 @ 9:17 pm
Is it just me, or is it not truly marvelous that the blog has acquired a narrative history — associative memories, collective yore, life. I raise my glass!
Comment by adam — February 16, 2007 @ 10:00 pm
Oh My God! What a memory this brings back. I remember clearly disassociating watching that fire spread. That was some day. As a little follow up, that hill post fire became gorgeously green in the summer with some wildflowers thrown in. And beautiful Bittersweet bushes blossom in the Fall. All was not lost. Just a little dignity.
Adam is right. The blog is our trip down memory lane.
Comment by LaRad — February 16, 2007 @ 11:55 pm
I like your scenic update. Caught in the moment one sometimes fails to appreciate those fall blooming Bittersweets.
Comment by michael — February 17, 2007 @ 8:12 am
LaRad,
Please reread “a spreading fire” and reconsider writing as a career.
You manage to capture the poignancy, humor, and immediacy of human experience in everything you write.
Comment by admirer — February 17, 2007 @ 9:23 am