You probably don't remember me. If you remember me at all, my face and personality have likely blended with the faces and personalities of the other fourth and fifth graders you taught. To you, I was likely just a face in the crowd.
It wasn't reciprocated, however. This is natural, because while a teacher may have upwards of 150 students, students rarely had more than 3 teachers per year in elementary school. So, I remember you.
It was my third grade when I knew you. You taught art at my elementary school. Never being particularly interested in the subject, your class wasn't one I looked forward to immensely. And that's okay.
I'm writing this- whatever you'd call it- because you recently committed suicide. After living since 2005 with paralysis from shoulders downward, you decided to end your life. No one would give you leave to do it, however, so you starved yourself. Two months it took you, but on December 1st, 2011, you left this world.
Why is this coming so late? I only heard about your death yesterday morning. It shocked me to my core that this happened, and that it had happened to you.
I'm going to be totally honest with you and say I don't remember much about your personality. I was in third grade, so I could be spared a little blame. I do remember liking you, for whatever reason.
As you know, in June 2005, you were paralyzed in a diving accident. There wasn't much direct impact on my life from this, except that you were replaced as Art teacher by a variety of substitutes. I can't remember if the principal addressed it all, but I remember hearing about it.
"Miss Symanski had an accident," was probably what I heard. "She accidentally dived into a three-foot pool. Now, she's going to be okay, but she's going to have to be in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. This shows how careful you have to be, okay?"
I probably said okay.
That was when you left my life. You didn't re-enter until what must have been 2008.
My mother had been searching the Internet when she came across an article about you, about how you still painted despite being injured. The picture included (One that has stuck in my mind, for whatever reason: A woman in a wedding dress, with clocks all around her, and you painting it with a brush in your mouth) shocked me, and showed me that you, even after a horrifying accident, could continue to do what you loved.
I drafted you a letter that I wanted to write you, explaining how much you inspired me.
As you and I both know, I never sent it.
Which brings me to the day of February 14th, 2012. Valentine's Day. My mother read aloud to my sister, while I was there, about your demise. I was shocked and horrified.
You are the first person I knew who committed suicide. Not that a judge you for it, but it certainly puts a human element on it.
You came to be a symbol in my mind. Someone who could do what they wanted, no matter the situation, no matter the trouble. Some might think that you committing suicide would take that away. It did not.
Starving yourself to death? I don't know if the other options were unavailable, but that was a painful way to go. Such dedication to a cause is admirable.
After I heard about your death, I started thinking of all the things I could have done. A million different ways to have kept you alive, none of which were feasible. I wanted to save you from the pain, I wanted to help you.
It turns out you didn't need my help. You saved yourself.
So I wrote this letter, which I'm going to post on the Internet. I wish I had had the courage to send it to you myself.
Christina Symanski, where ever you are now, rest in peace.
From,
A former student who now goes by Joshua Valett.
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