A dozen funerals. A village of 300 people. A dozen funerals. One school year. A dozen funerals. A Native Alaskan community where nearly everyone is related. A dozen funerals.
The second week of school last year a student of ours committed suicide. A few weeks later a recent graduate in the neighboring village committed suicide. Less than a month later the father of two boys in our K-12 school passed away. Less than a month after that we attended the funeral of another boy’s father. The day after Christmas my husband and I were in the church for the funeral of the mother of another student. The list goes on and on and on.
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A dozen funerals. Day after day I dwell on these funerals as I try to teach Alaska Native students in a rural village only accessible by plane. How can I not? The grief is palpable in our school every day. After all, there is no detachment when every person that lies in a casket is either a friend, a cousin, a neighbor, a parent, an aunt, or an uncle.
Here, there is no escape from death and certainly no escape from grief. My family and friends are thousands of miles away, the comfort they can offer from such a distance is limited. A weekend trip to distract oneself and get away from it all? Impossible, it’s $700 and two plane flights to the nearest city. Heading out to a movie to momentarily forget the grief? Also impossible, the nearest one is hundreds of miles away. Getting out walking, hiking, or skiing? Doable in the fall and spring, but difficult in the winter when the sun rises just before noon and sets by 4PM.
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So, that left me with just one escape, just one temporary relief: books. When I immersed myself into the world of The Hunger Games, I could temporarily forget about it all. While reading Hatchet I was able to distract myself by worrying about Brian, instead of worrying about my students. Reading Roald Dahl gave me laughs that were scarce elsewhere. Last year, as I dealt with these dozen funerals I threw myself headfirst into piles and piles of books. On a personal level, reading helped me maintain a positive and hopeful outlook on life. But, much more importantly, because I spent time in these fictional worlds each evening I could return to school each morning with energy; energy that was used to teach my students and help them through this difficult time (After all, they were the ones really grieving). Books got me through the year of the dozen funerals.
Language Arts teacher in a 300 person Native Alaskan village. She
blogs at http://verystillnorthteaches.wordpress.com/
Erika, thank you for sharing your challenges and sorrow with us. You’ve captured what many of us feel– the power of books to comfort us and provide escape.
Erika, last year I attended only one funeral, that of my youngest brother, and like you, I turned to books for solace. It’s amazing how a stack of paper, glued on the edges can work such magic. I hope this year finds you celebrating with your students rather than grieving with them.
I’m so sorry that you lost your brother last year, Mindy.
My deepest condolences Mindi. There aren’t enough books in the world to heal the loss of someone that close.
Such a touching reminder that books are not just for our students. If they were, would we bother as much? Books are for everyone — teachers included. Such amazing and necessary power. Thanks for sharing about your unfathomably tough year with us.
Erika, what a tough year for your community.
I really love your point about how you were able to draw energy from the time you spent in fictional worlds. Thank you for this powerful and heartfelt post.
I know exactly what you mean about the power of books to get you through. With our large earthquakes and continuing aftershooks in Christchurch, NZ over the past year and a half, books are one of the only things that allow me to escape from the real world.
What a tough year to endure. Thank goodness for the magical escape of books that lets us be someone else for awhile.
Shannon
http://extremereadingandwriting.wordpress.com/
Erika,
I was touched by your funeral post. I can’t imagine the grief that must surround your community. Like you I have found reading to be my escape route through grief. I recently read A Monster Calls, and while I sobbed and used up the tissues, I found solace in my connection with a book. They take me away to places where I need to go.
Julie
I lived and taught in a remote community on Baffin Island for three years. Your story brings back a lot of memories of death. I also found solace through reading. I guess I always have. I’m not in a remote village now, but schools can be stressful places to work (adults are jerks sometimes!). Recently, I’ve been reading more and more. I realize I can’t really function well as a mum, wife, or teacher without it. Nick Hornby taught me that.
I hope 2012 will be a happier year for your community.
Eileen