The sob burst out of me before I could stop it and then I was in Nish’s arms, bawling the burning pain of his sudden loss into her shoulder. As I thought about his mum and his little brother and the grief that would gnaw at them, that would ache in every muscle, and hang in a dismal pall over their lives for the months to come, I only cried harder.

The tears finally had stopped. I attempted to catch my breath as I pulled out of Nish’s arms. “I’m sorry.” I swiped at my cheeks, feeling embarrassed for breaking down in school. One look at my colleagues’ faces, though, and I knew they understood. Jarrod had been that kid for me, the one where I really felt I could make a difference in his life. It was hard in our job to feel that way, to feel like what we did mattered. I’d imagined discussing university choices with Jarrod next year, helping him get funding, feeling proud of him and how far he’d come. I’d felt like I saw him when no one else did and I’d hoped that it mattered to him.

It was like I’d stepped into some horrible, surreal nightmare.

Children didn’t die in knife fights in my world.

Where were we to stop that?

How could it be that he’d been in my classroom just last week, and now I was thinking about him in past tense? How did someone go from being this tangible person to being a ghost, a player in a film reel of memories?

The tears started coming again.

“Hannah.” Nish rubbed my arm in comfort. “You’re going to have to get yourself together, sweetheart. You’ve got classes, and you’ve got… you’ve got your fourth-year today.”

Oh, God.

How was I going to make it through that class when his empty chair would be staring at me the whole time?

I blew out a shaky breath and wiped at my tears. “I know,” I said, my voice trembling, my lips quivering. “Just give me a minute.”

“His funeral is on Thursday,” Eric told me. “Thursday, eleven o’ clock at Dean Cemetery.”

I winced, sucking in my breath to hold back another flood of tears. “Do you think they’ll give me time off to go?”

“Hannah, you were his favorite teacher,” Eric said kindly. “We’ll make sure you get to say good-bye.”

I pinched my lips together, my eyes blurring with fresh tears.

“Get rid of it now,” Nish said softly. “So you can face the kids.”

My first class that morning had not been easy, but it was my first-year class and they were subdued by the news of Jarrod’s death, which had already met their young ears as it passed through the school halls, and they quietly put their heads down and got on with the task I gave them.

It was when my fourth-years walked in that I felt myself waver and I had to turn my back, suck in the emotion, and count to ten before I could face them. When they were all settled in their seats, I looked them over, taking in the tearstained faces of some of the girls and the shocked, pale features of the rest of them. Even Jack looked upset.

I knew some of them had never been touched by death, and most of them had never been touched by the death of a peer – someone so young, so vital. There is a general belief in one’s own immortality when you’re young, that you can see and do anything and you and the world as you know it will still be there in the morning.

I wondered how Jarrod’s classmates and friends were coping with their sudden mortality.

My gaze came to a stop on his empty chair and I leaned back against my desk, my fingers curling into the wood.

“I wish I could tell you why,” I said, clearing my throat when my voice broke on the last few words.

Staci, a pretty blond girl who sat at the table behind Jarrod and often walked out of class with him, caught my eye as she swiped angrily at her tears.

“Why it is that life can change so quickly?” I continued. “How it’s possible for a heart to stop beating so suddenly, instantly breaking all the hearts that were ever connected to it? But the truth is there is no sense in what happened to Jarrod. None that I can see. I wish I had a better answer, but I don’t.”

The entire room watched me silently and I kept speaking. “I can tell you that it’s okay to feel whatever it is you’re feeling right now. It’s okay to miss him and it’s okay to hurt and it’s okay to feel lost – just as long as you come to me, or your friends, or your family, when all those feelings try to overwhelm you. Because in amongst all those feelings, some of you are going to be angry, and some of you will need someone to blame. It’s okay to be angry. I can’t tell you if it’s right or wrong to feel blame, but what I can say is don’t be angry for too long and don’t hold on to the blame forever. That kind of anger can take away a piece of you, a piece of you that you might not get back. Jarrod wouldn’t want that. Under the bluster and swagger, he was a really good person” – my lips trembled and my eyes were bright with unshed tears I couldn’t and honestly didn’t want to hide from them – “and I don’t think he would want that for any of you.

“I won’t lie to you. This changes things. It may even change you. I know it will change me.” I shrugged helplessly, feeling suddenly so young, too young to help them. “I guess it’s a reminder of the uncertainty in life and the foolishness of merely existing when the world is pleading with you to live. If you take anything from this, please take that. We take life for granted. We have to stop that. We have to start living.” I looked around at them all, catching some of their grief-stricken eyes. “If any of you need to talk to me, even if it’s to write it down, to put what you’re feeling on a bit of paper, then I’m here.”

I smiled sadly through the blur of tears and tapped the pile of books at my side. “Jarrod once confessed that his favorite book when he was younger was Danny the Champion of the World by Roald Dahl. His primary school teacher read it to the class. So we’re going to honor him today – you can read along with me as I read it to you.”

Before class I’d run over to the primary school next door and asked them for copies of the book, explaining why I needed them. They were kind and gracious enough to let me borrow the books. I passed the copies out to my kids and placed the last book on Jarrod’s desk slowly, fighting my tears. His friend Thomas, who had always been full of cheek in class, made a choked noise at my gesture and when I looked his way I saw him bury his head on his arms on the desk, his shoulders shaking as he tried to muffle his sobs. I passed him, squeezing his shoulder in comfort before walking to my desk, fighting the burn of emotion in my own throat. The muscles in my jaw, in my gums, in my cheeks, ached with it.

Somehow, I managed to open the book and I started to read.

Feeling as though I were wading through mud, I got through the day. I had e-mailed the teacher I shared the adult literacy class with and explained why I wouldn’t make my Thursday evening lesson this week. I got a kind e-mail in response from him and he told me he had it covered. From there I finished up my classes and jumped on a bus to Leith after work. There was one person I wanted to see more than anyone.

I wanted Marco. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and feel his strength, breathe him in, and know that I hadn’t given up on living the life I really wanted, the life I needed.

I was determined that someday in the near future I would do just that. The Hannah I used to be, the Hannah from my diaries, wasn’t afraid of anything. I didn’t want to be afraid anymore, and I didn’t want life to pass me by. However, I didn’t think it was right to use Marco as an emotional crutch. Things were already so complicated between us as it was. When I went to him, I wanted him to be sure I was coming to him for the right reasons.

So I got off the bus and I strode to Cole’s apartment.

As soon as he opened his door I walked into his arms and burst out crying. Thankfully, his dodgy flatmate was out, so I could tell Cole about Jarrod in private. He left me briefly to make me a cup of tea and when he returned he pulled me into his side and held me close.