Ask me about Miya

 The new school year began only seven weeks ago. Yet during this time I have fought off feelings of wanting, no, needing to leave the building early to go home. I have done so just once, asking for coverage of my last period class and I stayed home just one day, calling in sick after waking up and feeling this rush of uncertainty and dread. It wasn’t a panic attack; I’ve experienced those. That morning I simply knew that I could not be a leader of any kind. 

We remain at war with Covid 19. Despite mask mandates and vaccinations, we hear weekly of cases of positive tests and quarantine and the names of those who are feeling ill. The fighting is different this year. Our hours at school have been extended and we no longer move to remote learning as it hasn’t been deemed necessary as of yet this fall, but it is by no means a normal school year. The thing is, I don’t feel it will ever be normal again. Teens’ masks slip down to reveal noses. Spoken reminders and gestures are made to persuade students to comply with the rules. The old “No hats” rule is abandoned as an apparent compromise. But between the brim of a cap and the top of a mask, I must memorize only eyes to see whom I’m talking with each day. I miss full faces. I miss seeing smiles.

I may have begun a countdown. I think I’ll retire from teaching in ten years. I hope I can afford to. I never thought of retirement until recently. It’s been a grueling few years during Covid; we teachers have learned to pivot, adapt, adjust, redefine, rework, and grow at rates unbelievably impressive. I put all this down here on paper to mark the journey. But the most heroic accomplishment we, teachers and students alike, have made is to continue to show up. Every morning we arrive to face another day. 

Everyone it seems has a 504 plan. People speak of having anxiety and I think, “who doesn’t?”. The truth is, it’s good practice to be kind and forgiving as often as possible. There’s no need to rate one’s level of suffering. For those taking advantage of a situation, it is what it is. It’s a mark of integrity and character anyhow, isn’t it? 

But here’s the thing. I am reaching the end of my prep period. My last block class will be at my classroom door momentarily. And all I want to do is walk to the chalkboard and to write a brief request upon the green. 

Ask me about Miya. 

It would have been easy to simply close this word document and to move forward in the teaching of my last period class. It would have even been justified if I’d decided to leave school and to go home. But instead, I did walk to the chalkboard and I did write those words above for my teens to see. It was after several minutes of helping students find comments of feedback I’d written on their essays. It was just before I was to tell them of their second summative of the quarter. 

I read them the words above and after saying the phrase above, the class of dutiful creative writers all said in uniform, “Thank you for sharing”.  

I stumbled through a few more minutes of explanation. I didn’t wait for anyone to ask. Instead, I just shared. How we were connected, when we’d met, what she was like, her brightness and her light, how she’d earned her Master’s, how her patients or clients had loved her, how cool she was in all ways. My words were not the most articulate by then but I had trouble stopping. Finally though, I did. I took a big breath. And then  I asked them to take a minute or two to talk to me by responding in their journals. “You don’t have to, though”, I said. I just hope it was okay that I shared that. 

And then we moved on. 

All of the teens in the room wrote to me. They were sweet and they were kind. A few responses stood out to me: 

What happened is horrifying and horrible. But, honestly, I appreciate you sharing that with us. It was really brave, and something I would never be able to do, but… human connection is important. Thank you for sharing.  ---J

How you described Miya shows her as an incredible person that everyone should inspire to be. I think it’s good that you told us about her, if not to introduce us to her, then to be helpful for you. I have a feeling she would be proud of you for making it through the day.  --S

The tears are still brimming now as I close this out, but I don’t think it was a mistake that I wrote, cried, or shared with my students. I accomplished what I had needed to do for their daily lesson. But on top of that, if for just 15 minutes, I did my best to stop the world from spinning. I didn’t run home. I pushed through. 

I did it despite exhaustion and grief. I did it wearing a mask. I did it for Miya... and for all of her loved ones... and for my teenage students...and for me...and for us all. 

Yes, I’ll be ready to retire someday. But for now, I’ll do what I can to make each and every day count. 

Magnificent Miya

Graduation at Fenway Park, May 2021 

Mom? Are YOU okay? 

I had fallen back asleep on Sunday morning. It was around 9:00am, I think, and I sounded groggy as I answered the phone. Emma’s voice. Her question of my own wellness. I heard the slightest of quivers in her voice. I steeled myself. Something was wrong. 

Mom? Miya was shot. She’s gone. 

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When I Think of Death 

by Maya Angelou

When I think of death, and of late the idea has come with

alarming frequency, I seem at peace with the idea that a day

will dawn when I will no longer be among those living in this 

valley of strange humors. 

I can accept the idea of my own demise, but I am unable to 

accept the death of anyone else. 

I find it impossible to let a friend or relative go into that

country of no return. 

Disbelief becomes my close companion, and anger follows in

its wake. 

I answer the heroic question ‘Death, where is thy sting?’ with

‘It is here in my heart and mind and memories.’

**********************************************************************

“Magnificent Miya” is what I called her last week on her birthday. In the wee hours of August 1, 2021, a week after turning 24,  she was robbed of her life in a random drive-by shooting in Providence, Rhode Island. She had been outside her car after leaving a party, talking with a friend, when a car raced by and let gunfire fly. The murder was random, senseless, devastating. Left in the wake of this violent death are her wonderful parents, Bryan and Michelle, her beloved older brother, Belamy, and her enthusiastic, fellow Harry Potter fan, sister-in-law, Emma. They’re a demonstrative, affectionate, loving family. The five of them had visited together just the day before the shooting, meeting up in New Hampshire for a day of exploring two Frank Lloyd Wright houses and sharing a meal. Emma and Bel had returned home to their Portland, Maine home Saturday evening. 

I am Emma’s mom. Alongside my husband of 32 years, Eric, our first born daughter Sydney, and our son, Paul, Emma was raised  in one of several lake regions of Maine, a state which is a three to four hour drive from Rhode Island. When Emma first expressed interest in exploring the University of Rhode Island in Kingston, we visited for the first time, delighting in the state’s beautiful shoreline, its friendly people, and its multiple opportunities for fun and adventure. In the four years that Emma attended URI, earning her BFA degree, we traveled the roads between Maine and Rhode Island several times a year. 

It was there, in Emma’s college state, that we first met the Brophy-Baermanns. Belamy had traveled to Maine soon after he and Emma had begun dating, but we met Miya, Bryan, and Michelle at dinner one evening in Rhode Island. I remember feeling nervous about making a good impression on this family, but I need not have worried. Even though I foolishly ordered the largest meatball I’ve ever seen as an appetizer to devour by myself in front of this fully vegetarian family, and even though Eric unabashedly told his grandfather’s story of cooking up trash can clams or something or other, our first dinner together was full of genuine laughter and warmth. And smiling and laughing alongside us, her beautiful, happy eyes fully open and filled with comfort and admiration for her brother’s new girlfriend, was magnificent Miya. 

There were more dinners together. There was a glorious wedding at the foot of Katahdin, our beloved hometown mountain here in Maine. Love and happiness surrounded our families that entire weekend. Miya stood next to Belamy as his best person. The two of them shared an incredible bond. We cried happy tears, we ate delicious food, we danced and laughed together for hours. Emma had previously regaled us with stories of how loving and accepting Miya was, of how lucky she was to have gained another sister. Miya embraced us too, sharing stories and laughs with Sydney and Paul, warmly hugging Eric and I whenever we saw one another that wedding weekend and at every visit before and afterward. The family came to our home for Christmas Eve one year and when Belamy had to go to bed early, suffering from a migraine, our two families felt no awkwardness at all. We were all one family. 

Miya and I shared photos and posts with one another on Instagram and/or Facebook. I watched from afar as she shared her passion for righting the wrongs of the underprivileged and oppressed. She had moved to Rhode Island from Wisconsin when she was nine years old. She graduated from high school then earned her bachelor’s degree at URI. This year she earned her Master’s in Speech-Language Pathology at Northeastern University. She was working in her field immediately after graduation. She fought tirelessly for people who needed their voices uplifted. She was intelligent, witty, compassionate, and relentless when it came to caring for others. Her family, OUR family is in awe of her and incredibly proud of her accomplishments and her character. As Miya’s Mom has said, “She was all that’s good in the world”. She was at the start of a most illuminating, inspirational career. She was just beginning to soar high with those strong adult wings she had grown. 

This past Sunday morning, we were robbed of a future with Miya. But we will not let anyone rob us of her power and inspiration. She will forever be our Magnificent Miya. We love her so much. 

In memory of Miya’s bright light, in lieu of flowers, donations may be sent to https://gofund.me/7a2cef67 in support of the creation of a scholarship fund in Miya’s memory, in the hope of continuing her work, her passion for helping others, and further spreading the warmth and light she shared with us all. The funds raised will help to establish a memorial scholarship titled Miya’s Voice.