They're all my babies

When I started teaching I was only 25 years old. I couldn't (still can't) wrap my head around my own mortality, much less that of anyone younger than I. My middle school students were the utter, if awkward, embodiment of of aliveness. I had just had my first child for goodness sake! My world was saturated with life.
Which is why recent tragedies involving some of my former students just stun me. This past January one of my brightest and most beautiful students, now 23 and a new mother, was on her way home from picking up her infant daughter from Grandma's house when she skidded out on black ice and was killed. Killed! Her beautiful baby girl now lives with her grandmother. You don't even have to know her to feel the pain in your own gut.
Imagine if you did know her...
The picture you see here is of Caleb Potter. He was so out of place in his little 8th grade body. He gushed vitality so intensely it left stains. This past July 4th he flirted with disaster, and this time she called his bluff. Two months later he's still hospitalized in Boston with traumatic brain injuries (Read his ongoing story at http://www.calebpotter.blogspot.com/). He's 25 years old.
I can't think of anything to say that isn't trite. Hm. Perhaps all those tired cliches are what they are because they really meant something to so many people over so much time. Hm.
Kiss your kids. Count your blessings. Live every day like it's your last.