In Memory of David.

There's so much I wish I could say or explain how I feel, but I don't think I can find the words. I think there's a level of trauma that I am still processing from losing my friend and my student David. I know that there's no point in self blame or thinking of the "could have, should have, would have." I understand thinking this way doesn't serve anyone, especially not me and the people around me. I acknowledge that I've been thinking about the what ifs and I keep replaying situations and scenarios in my head, which is the part that's traumatizing me. I can't focus. I can't sleep. I'm angry at all the adults that let it get to this point. We have an obligation to love our children, similar to teachers who have an obligation to educate our children and create a safe space. I don't have children of my own, but I've raised some and see them and treat them like my own. I am angry at the school for allowing three years of harassment and bullying, transcending to the homophobia and transphobia that is now what we call our school. I am upset and irritated with the aftermath. I am disappointed in the adults that are suppose to be there, that are suppose to make sure other students and children feel safe so that we don't ever have to drive other youth to their death. David's death lit a fire in me because I saw myself in him. I see myself in all the LGBTQIA kids who just want to be accepted and acknowledged. They fear for just wanting to be themselves. How is that okay? You either accept your queer children or you risk losing them, sometimes permanently. Parents, we risk driving our LGBTQIA child to make bad choices because they feel like they don't have a choice. They feel like they can't go anywhere else or turn to anyone. Our parents may know nothing about mental health or how their own trauma shown through their parenting style impacts us. They may know nothing about being queer and gay, but we have a responsibility to break this inter-generational cycle. And for schools, you have a responsibility to respond when children feel uncomfortable, harassed, and unsafe. Teachers and schools, our LGBTQIA youth feel silenced. They feel like adults don't see them for them because we can't even stand up for them, or can't even care enough to respect their gender. We cannot, for the sake of our youth and children, continue to traumatize them or deny their space.

As a Hmong, queer, non-binary shaman, losing David has been life-changing because shamans feel everything to a heightened level. I haven't told anyone this, but I was talking to David just 24 hours before he died. We had made plans to get Olive Garden and he confirmed. But the next day, I texted but didn't get a response. I called but no one answered. When I didn't hear from him I started to have knots in my stomach, like I was going to vomit. As a shaman, this feeling felt familiar and I knew something wasn't right. My stomach started to turn, my heart started to sank deeper and deeper, and I started to have fear. Intrinsically, I felt like something went terribly wrong. I felt like someone was trying to tell me something, trying to reach out but I refused to let them in. I was beginning to get sad without even knowing why. I said aloud to myself that I hope everything is okay with David, but deep down I felt my shaman guides telling me something else. Feeling like something was odd or off, all I could think about was David that whole day. I should have listened to my guides. I should have switched our Olive Garden dinner to that day, then maybe things would be different.

Prior to his passing, I told him I'd be there for him no matter what happened, no matter what state of mind he is in, and no matter what time of day it is. I knew what it was like to feel unseen, to feel like you don't matter and your life is meaningless. And so I never wanted anyone to feel like this. We bonded over music. I went with him to court. I sent him to work, cashapp him cash to buy food, and I checked in with him everyday...But just like that, gone forever. Because of what's happened in the past few weeks to months, I could no longer mentally and spiritually cope with coming in to work everyday, facing the same structures and systems that drove David out. And because of my promise to David, I decided to resign and focus my life to help LGBTQ youth.

I had made him a "first aid" kit at school because he kept fucking up his entire knee. He'd come to school with a bloody mess of a knee. And now when I'm at work, I see that first aid kit and I can't even touch it. I don't want to get rid of it either. I still have his green butterfly sticker he gave me and I sometimes wish I can just fly away like butterflies do. I wish sometimes I can just cocoon myself and transform into something else. When we were planing for his memorial and vigil, I had gone to dollar mart to buy some frames for his pictures. I realized I didn't have my card on me. I went back to the car and searched everywhere. No card. But I somehow I found the "Student's Emergency Fund" envelop I made for David for when he really needed it. Every time I received cash back, I'd put a few bucks in there. I kept this in my desk at work, but it was somehow in my laptop bag. There was $35 cash in there and I was able to use this to buy David's things for his memorial. I couldn't make sense of how that envelop could have made it in my bag because I made sure to leave it in my desk. I think that day David looked out for me.

The reality is we have to face what is happening now. We have to face the people we are angry with. The systems we are upset with. The structures that failed us. We mourn and grieve for people we lose. We cope in the aftermath and we don't have a choice but to move through it and with it. We have to use and direct our anger in ways that can make change. That's the only way David's death would have meaning now because there's nothing we can do to change the past. And I hope that through the loss of our friends and family we come to find the small meanings of life. We come to remember what their life meant and what they stood for. This is the only thing we can move on with.

Like David said to me, "Mr. Lee, Don't you dare forget the sun."

TFL Hmong Shaman