When I was in high school, one of my favorite teachers was a man named Bill James. Mr. James was the Psychology teacher in my high school, and I had him for three semesters; one semester of Psychology and two of AP Psychology. Often times if I was stressed, overwhelmed or was struggling I was able to take him aside during or after class, explain my situation and he would be right there listening and understanding. I got more extensions on work than I probably deserved and he always tried to make sure myself and his other students succeeded. Mr. James was also one of the teachers that supported me going into education one-hundred percent. I went into my freshman year at Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo, Michigan and I visited my hometown a few times in my first semester. I only went back to my high school once though, and I only stayed with the band, as I was planning on coming back to say hello to my other teachers at another time. I wish I had seen him. In my second semester at Western, on February 18th, 2020, I recieved word that Mr. James had passed away. It was unexpected and quite sudden and suddenly I was thrown for a loop. Everything had gone numb in that second. I was going home that weekend and so I loaded up my bags that Thursday night and went home. That car ride is still one of the most vivid ones from my many drives freshman year. It seemed like every song that played suddenly had a darker meaning, and it felt like I was driving home to somewhere that no longer felt quite as welcoming. When I got home I remember putting my bags down, and my mom asking me how I was doing. My only response was to start crying. I hadn't experienced a death of someone I cared so much for in a very long time and as a result, I hadn't yet developed any coping mechanisms for grief yet. That weekend was one of the longest in my life. On Sunday, the day I was meant to be driving back to Western, his family had a visitation. I decided to go, and in sticking to my personality, I dressed without wearing black. I walked into the place it was held, saw some of my friends I had graduated with and walked up to them. One of them nodded at me and asked how I was doing. Again, all I could do was choke out a, "Well I'm here and that's something." We stood around for a while, and began sharing stories of the good times in his class. These good stories were a quiet relief about the situation. It made me remember all of the good things I learned about and experienced in his class, and gave me a silent goodbye.
It's still hard to think about, and still hard to visit the school without him there. But in dealing with the grief I pushed myself to learn something new every day. I want to remember him the way he deserves, and so for that reason I pushed myself to become a creative and inventive teacher, and to do my best to pass on his legacy to others. Although dealing with grief through my freshman year was a burden I never thought I would have to deal with, it helped me to develop healthy coping mechanisms, and to become okay with opening up to people. All thanks to one incredible teacher of psychology; Bill James.
R.I.P. Bill James
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