A Boy Called Mitch

Year 8 RE lesson: 
Mr Archibald, “If statistics remain true, by the time you leave in year 11, you will have lost someone in your year group”. 

On the last day of year 11: 
Me, “We’re all here”. 
Mr Archibald, “You don’t know how lucky you are”. 

And I didn’t. 

Over my entire school career I was lucky enough to pass my GCSE’s with everyone I started year 7 with. Something every child should be able to say, but that very few can. I’m always amazed at how resilient children are and how they just get on with whatever life throws at them, but never more so than with my year 10 class at my last school. I’m so proud of them and so thankful for everything they’ve taught me over that last year (2009). 

September 16th 2009 was the first anniversary of the death of my first best friend, Michael. The month it happened I was working with a 6th form group who were directing a TIE performance about a suicide chatroom. The day before the dress rehearsal I got a phonecall to say Michael had killed himself. I went into school and continued as if nothing had happened, the most important thing being that the rehearsal went well and that the students got the best grades they could. At the moment the lead actor decided not to give up and instead burst into a slightly irrational, but release-filled routine to Cotton Eye Joe, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

Michael had reached the lowest point possible and couldn’t cope with what his mind was doing to him. I have so many regrets about how I could have helped, how I could have stopped him, how I could have been there; the truth is, there is absolutely nothing anyone could have done. At 23 (and just days before his own 23rd birthday) I couldn’t get my head around the fact that he was gone. 

Then came a boy called Mitch. 

Mitch taught me what happens when you don’t give up. He was the kindest, most lovable little lad I’ve met in a long long time and he was fighting the most horrible illness that he didn’t deserve (he was bloody good at drama too!). Mitch was one of my year 10’s and despite missing a lot of school due to treatment, he came in and carried on the best he could. I remember him coming in after Christmas and he was really cold and so sat by the radiator going over the resource pack I’d made him for his coursework. I gave him my ski jacket to keep him warm, but told him not to nick off with my car keys in the pocket! He joked he was warmer in bed and that next lesson he would just bring his duvet in and sit in the corner, “you’ll say don’t worry, it’s just Mitch!” On Wednesday 20th May I taught year 10 lesson 4 as usual, as if nothing had happened; I sent them off to a special year assembly, as if nothing had happened. Staff were told that morning that Mitch had not recovered from his bone marrow transplant and we had lost him. My year 10’s returned for lesson 5 knowing they would never see him again. That lesson is a blur; a room of children crying, laughing, punching lockers, sitting silently, talking, walking and trying to get their heads around the fact that he was gone. The whole time I tried to forget the look Mitch’s best friend had given me when he found out; did he know I already knew? did he know I’d sent him into the trenches knowing the outcome? did he understand why I couldn’t tell him sooner? 

Over the weeks and finally months, my 10’s showed me what it means to never give up. Mitch never gave up. They have shown me what it is to live every day and appreciate the people who come into our lives; some are there to help us, some are there to trip us up, but all are there to teach us something. They also taught me the true meaning of “shut up and get on with it!” I will never forget them and never give up. 

One day I woke up and Michael and Mitch weren’t the first things I thought of. 
One day I’ll wake up and stop hating myself for it.