Loss

I have been advising students in a professional capacity for four years now. And I have seen the academic environment change considerably in that time. The shootings at Virginia Tech and Northern Illinois University have created an environment of caution and suspicion among educators. Violence on college campuses is on the rise and it seems that every other week my school is testing their "warning" sirens.

But in all of the time I have been here, it is the more immediate deaths that effect me the most. I lost a student last year to a car accident--the incredible Joe Amoury--and I still remember his wit and his smile. Joe was an extraordinary student, musician, and friend. We lost him long before his full potential was reached.

I recently received an e-mail announcing the death of another student who was shot in the back after a robbery in nearby Byrd Park. Tyler Binsted was a Sculpture major who served as an assistant to one of the Sculpture professors. He also went to Qatar last year on a scholarship because his work was so extraordinary. He was 19 years old.

Advisors see their students once a month (sometimes more, sometimes less), but they all make an impression. Tyler's advisor is heartbroken right now. I have no words to console her, despite going through the same situation myself last year. And as someone who makes their living talking to people...finding just the right words to help, I can't help but feel frustrated. There is nothing I can say to make this better. "I'm sorry" feels painfully inadequate...but sometimes it's the best we have to give.

I often find myself getting angry about these deaths. There was no reason for either of these young men to die and both had so much potential. But I see potential in every student I meet. Moments like this makes me realize that the greatest tragedy of all is the failure for that potential to be fulfilled, whether it be because of an early end, or through one's own actions.

When my students come to me because they have lost someone close to them, I frequently remind them to celebrate that person's life. Celebrating someone's memory does a hell of a lot more good than spending time drowning in your own sorrow. I can't help but think that Tyler's friends will be creating some amazing art in his memory.