You don't know me. My name is not in any record book on campus and there's no landmark that bears my name. But I'm a part of your Andover family and my heart hurts for and with every one of you.
I won't claim to know exactly how you're feeling right now. No one can claim that. Each of you will experience this day and all the days to come differently. What I will say is that each and every one of your feelings is valid. The pain, the shock, the anger and yes, even the numbness, are all feelings that your grief has earned you.
I'm writing this because I see you. It's been 17 years since I lost my friend Zach in a similarly tragic way. And I still know there's a small hole in my heart that is a leftover from that lost. It is part of the tapestry of my life now, and I wouldn't replace it. Daniel will live on inside each of you. And I promise you that there be will many moments in your future, when his memory will bring you great comfort. His legacy will be those moments when you listen a little longer to a person who needs to talk, or when you get that feeling to call a friend who you haven't connected with in a while just to say hello.
I won't say "feel better" or "I'm so sorry" because you've already heard it. You'll hear it so often in the ongoing days and weeks. And one day, when people say it fewer and fewer and may even stop saying it at all, you might feel anger and wonder "don't they know I still hurt?"
What I will say is: Be Kind. Be kind to each other. There will be some who need to be held, in your arms and in your thoughts, right now at this very moment. There will be others who find themselves crying seven months later and wont know why. Be present for them. Be a presence for them. Sit in silence with each other if that's what you need right now. Eat way too much at Bertucci's together if that gives you some comfort. Sing for each other. Work out together. Pause with one another. To this day, beyond my family, there is NO ONE I'd rather do absolutely nothing with than an Andover friend.
Also, and this is so important, be kind to yourselves. There is no right way to grieve. Unconscionable losses are called that for a reason. I wish none of you had to learn how you would react in this moment. I grieve the loss of innocence for so many of you. Some of you will want and need to take care of everyone else around you. Some of you will need to be taken care of. There is no shame in either of those positions and it is okay to swap them as often or as rarely as you need. And, though it may feel uncomfortable, reach out to the adults in the community. They want to be there for you. And I promise you that they can be part of the glue that helps build you back up when you're feeling broken.
For the seniors... I don't think there are any such thing as the "right" words for you. These next several days will pass in a blur and also is super slow motion detail at the same time. And there is still so much on your plates for this year. I want you to know that while this will forever be a part of your Andover history, this moment of immense pain will not define it. You are allowed to have moments when you feel "okay" and eventually, even moments of happiness. As you grow older, you'll learn that mourning and embracing joy don't have to be mutually exclusive. Your smiles may grow dimmer and fewer and further between for a while, but each one will still be so beautiful.
I want you to know how deeply each of you is loved. I want you to know that there are thousands of people in the Big Blue community who root for you, admire you, and pray for you every single day. Your potential for greatness is unlimited. But more importantly, who you are RIGHT NOW, is already so very much. It is more than enough.
I tend to think life often delivers messages to you exactly when you need them. And I'll mention a small moment that has resonated for me for many years. My cousin Diallo has always been an affectionate guy, often to the point of silliness. Once, after a long absence, he gave me a particularly long and dramatic hug. And I started to complain in the way one does when joking with family, and he said "Life's too short so you have to hug longer."
I think about that often now. Loss is hard and sadly, to some extent, a guarantee. So when you see someone you love, take a moment to listen a little harder, laugh a little louder, and indeed, hug a little longer.
Love and sympathy from your Big Blue Family.
