Yo Han’s been on my mind all month. I figured this would happen. Actually, I could have predicted it two years
ago, on May 30, the day I found out my student of the past three years had died
in a moto crash one day after finishing his sophomore year. I knew it was going to be tough watching his
classmates graduate without him.
None of them really confided in me after the accident, and
it was maddening trying to read them when I had half of them in French class
and none in English that year. It took a
while before I believed their other teachers and parents that they were doing
pretty well with the grieving process. I
tried to let go of my worry about their emotional well-being and about the
safety of all my students and friends.
Actually, I had a lot of new worries to process, not the least of which
was an intensified terror of seeing bodies on the road. My mind turns all kinds of litter – old rags,
tree branches, discarded tires – into corpses when they loom ahead of me on the
road, and I wince every time. I started assuming the worst when my roommates weren't home on time or when I got late-night phone calls. It’s
abated somewhat, but it still takes effort not to let my mind jump that way.
Thankfully,
I never saw footage of him after the wreck, unlike a couple of my students who
were haunted by graphic photos posted online and shown on Cambodian TV. But the details I heard about the wreck and
its aftermath were horrifying enough that mental images still occasionally flash
before my eyes unbidden. Yo Han’s death
didn’t just affect his peers; it profoundly shook me, another teacher, his friend’s mom, and other adults I’m close to. We had to accept that we're incapable of guaranteeing the safety of the people we love.
Last Wednesday at lunch, I sat with seniors during the last day of classes, their last school lunch. It was some of Yo Han’s closest friends, and they casually mentioned that on Friday, after graduation practice, the whole class was taking another trip to his grave…something that many of them did together last year. I wanted to ask how they’d been doing lately with memories of him, but suddenly I couldn’t. For about five minutes I was so choked up that I didn’t trust my voice to say anything at all. I knew if they looked at me, they’d wonder why my eyes were welling up. But nobody did. They were too busy talking about bubble tea, debating whether they order it every Friday due to peer pressure or how good it tastes.
Suddenly I was just so sad that he couldn’t be at that lunch
table with them, interrupting them with his philosophy on bubble tea, making
cheesy jokes, getting excited for graduation.
I was so sad that this graduation practice and ceremony had to bear the
weight of his absence. Why couldn’t it
be enough for these Third Culture Kids just to say goodbye to their entire
community and the country they’ve grown up in?
Why did they have to only imagine how he would look in that shiny blue
gown and stupid hat, a bit taller and less awkwardly lanky than two years
ago? Why couldn’t his parents join in
the cheers and the photos and the hugs?
Why can’t Yo Han sign his peers’ yearbooks and attend their grad
parties? It had been so long since I’d wrestled with “why’s” on this and it took me aback. I escaped undetected and moved on with my
day, but even now writing this, the lump in my throat is back and the tears are
brimming over.
I know Yo Han’s in heaven.
I know so much blessing has come out of this whole mess. For my students. For my own faith. For people I’ll never even meet. I know given a choice between God’s glory and
bubble tea, he’d forego the latter without hesitation. But I was reminded last Wednesday that death
sucks. It hurts to be separated from
people you love. Life is painful and
messy.
I know it sounds cliché, but Jesus really has been the
answer for a lot of my questions and fears.
I was floored when I realized that he redeemed the idea of blood
spilling out. The horror I associate
with Yo Han’s death was Jesus’ chosen method of bringing lasting life to me and
Yo Han and millions of others. The
anguish I imagine from Yo Han’s parents, searching for him late into the night
only to discover the terrible truth, echoes the agony of the Father allowing
his Son to be torn away from him in order to open a way for us to enter his
family.
The Jesus Storybook Bible’s recurring phrase always comes back to my mind:
“God was making the sad things come untrue!”
In the words of John Donne, “Death, be not proud” – your victory is temporary. One day the tears will vanish for good. The goodbyes will cease. The fear will be no more. And until then, we’re not in their power…we have access to a hope that outweighs our sorrow.
The Jesus Storybook Bible’s recurring phrase always comes back to my mind:
“God was making the sad things come untrue!”
In the words of John Donne, “Death, be not proud” – your victory is temporary. One day the tears will vanish for good. The goodbyes will cease. The fear will be no more. And until then, we’re not in their power…we have access to a hope that outweighs our sorrow.
Congratulations, Yo Han. It’s been two years since you graduated, and
you’ve spent every moment since then enjoying life – not just life but Life! - to the full and making a
difference that you couldn’t have dreamed of.
I miss you very much, and I am so proud of you.
