It's odd and even frightening how quickly the daily routine swallows a tragedy. Yesterday, I attended the funeral of a 16 year old boy. Today, I am immersed in setting up an e-mail distribution list for all current students and their families, finishing up some Safer Spaces reports, preparing the next fundraiser and beginning the writing of a classroom event for parents and children in two weeks time. The memory of Jose's face will fade only to be revived occasionally when I happen to see his memorial card in my Book of Christian Prayer or when I see his mother and sister at Sunday Mass. I feel that I should stand with fist in the air, shouting his name so that it will not be forgotten that Jose walked these halls, sat in these classrooms ... and that we adults, who should have protected him, did not recognize his pain or heal his wounds and don't deserve to sink back into complacency and routine so very quickly and easily. The sharp sting of "what if..." should linger longer. What a weakling I am, unable to hold a focus long enough to learn a lesson.