When Children Lose Hope

Our little city of Calimesa made the news last week, and not for anything good. Thirteen-year-old Rosalie Avila, a student at Mesa View Middle School, hanged herself in her bedroom. She was found by her parents.

This is a tragic story.
This is a familiar story.

This is a photo of Rosalie:

Kids at school told her she was ugly. Her parents had arranged counseling for her months before her suicide because they discovered she'd been cutting herself. They did everything right in their attempt to save their daughter. Sadly, forces greater than themselves intervened.

In August,  the Huffington Post ran a story on teen suicide rates--because they have hit an all-time high and continue to rise. Nowadays, more young girls kill themselves than ever before.

This is a gut punch to me.

I want to blame social media. I want to blame a society that reveres youth and beauty above all gifts, talents, abilities or strengths.

I want to blame the parents of the bullies, but I know that those parents love their kids and think they're terrific. Of course they do. It has been my experience that the parents of bullies are the last people to discover that their 'good' kids are going off to school and taunting, tormenting, and humiliating other kids.

I want to blame the bullies, of course. I want to pull them aside, sit them down, get in their faces with my harshest teacher voice and ask, "Do you understand exactly what you did here?" But... they're kids. They did what kids have done for countless generations. I was told horrible things in middle school, too. "Your teeth are crooked." "You walk funny." "You're ugly." "You're dumb." And I was depressed, though not suicidal. That depth would come later, in high school, when I was fifteen.... All those voices echoing in my psyche contributed, though, I have no doubt.

I want to blame somebody, anybody, because I'm just angry. I'm furious that another girl thought she wasn't pretty enough... thought that happiness would only be held out to the beautiful people in life. I'm sure she watched enough TV and saw enough online and heard enough at school to believe that this is so.

And so she simply lost hope. She was embarrassed by her crooked teeth. Her parents got her the orthodontia she needed, but then she was teased about wearing braces. She couldn't win. So she gave up.

We lost her. And I am so sad for that.

I went for a walk this morning around Mesa View Middle School. I took Thomas with me (because one should always take a beloved companion along when one chooses to immerse oneself in sadness). We walked the perimeter of the school, then found ourselves walking the athletic track, then discovered Rosalie's name scraped out in the dirt in letters as long as my shadow. I stepped back in order not to walk on someone's memorial and saw that a third of the track had been covered in messages:

Rosie, we miss you!
Rosie, we love you!
Rosalie (signed by Aubrianna)

And the last one pictured below. To that one, I say, Amen.

Frog and the Buddha Head East

One week ago some people who love me agreed to give up an entire Saturday and work hard all day in sweltering temperatures to move everything in my Ontario house forty miles east to Calimesa. Bless them. Bless them forever. I stayed one more night in the neighborhood of loud parties, gun shots, cherry bombs and burglars, then scooped my cats into carriers, called Sgt. ThomasTibbs into the extra cab of the truck, and off we went to pursue new adventures (with hope and a prayer for peace and quiet).

The first night was bliss. We slept with the window open, a cool breeze wafting in across our faces (well, mine and the cats—Thomas sleeps in his cushy bed on the floor). No booms. No drunken voices shouting. No sirens deep in the night. Just quiet.

I am happy to say the bliss has continued unabated.

Calimesa is a small town of rolling hills just east of Yucaipa (which is just east of Redlands—and there is a Trader Joe's in Redlands, so further bliss). Because this oasis in which I live is on a slight rise, Thomas and I are surrounded by sweeping vistas to the east (sunrise!), north (the mountains!) and west (sunset!) when we walk—and now we are walking in the morning and the evening as well. There is an orchard on the property here, and I have augmented my breakfast cereal with fresh peaches a few times or savored a ripe plum with my lunch. Watching the ducks glide across the lake at dawn is both calming and renewing.

A lot of the residents here (Plantation on the Lake, a 55+ community) drive around the property—to the pool or lake or fitness room or mailboxes—on golf carts. Often a small dog will accompany them, sitting happily on the front bench seat, leaned against the thigh of its person, enjoying the wind blowing across its face, as dogs do. When someone passes us, they wave. Everyone does this. So I've joined in, waving to those I pass as I head out in the truck or ride my bike to pick up my mail. It's a lovely gesture, isn't it? Just the simple acknowledgement of a fellow human. "I see you, and I greet you with kindness."

Several friends have asked why I moved to Calimesa. Oh dear. That story began long ago... in the winter of 1983. It's a story of fate, romance, longing and life change. And it is too long to add on here as a postscript. So it will have to be the subject of next week's post. Stay tuned!