a clanking spoon

My rambunctious class of 7th grade students came into my classroom Wednesday morning to a different tune.  Believe me I wish I had to tell them get started on your morning journal, have a seat, lets get to work, but not this morning.  All I hear is my spoon clanking against my oatmeal cup, and sniffles.  All I see are red, blood shot, wet eyes.  I have a class of 28 7th graders staring at the board life less.  Their emotions and feelings are evident.  They miss their friend.  The boy they went to school with for 5 years in elementary school.  The boy they played basketball with in the street.  The boy that they thought they would see this weekend at a birthday party.  The boy that is no longer around.  Death Sucks.  It Sucks.  There is no way around it.  No sugar coat.  It hurts.  What hurts me is the pain I see in them.  This student was redistricted to a neighboring middle school yet I hurt too.  This kid.  13 years in.  An entire life ahead.  An age where they think, "this won't happen to me" and then it does.  Clank... Clank... Clank... so is my spoon in my oatmeal.  Now... do I teach?  Nope.  I give them paper... let them sit...  Here I am.  Typing away.  Watching.  These kids are hurting.  They are writing.  They are drawing.  They are learning to deal.  They are learning a lesson I could never teach.  Only one that is learned with experience.   Clank... Clank.. Clank.  The worst sound in the world.