Monday, May 11, 2009

A Passing

Last week I learned of the death of a former middle and high school classmate. My first reaction was the typical shock, but as the days passed I realized that I really didn't feel much at all; I was indifferent. I don't mean to sound callous or to be insensitive to any of his friends who might read this, but I'm not saddened by his death.

When I was a teenager, I'm sure there were times when I wished him dead. In those pre-Columbine days when bullying was an accepted part of growing up, D.S. was my bully. He wasn't a physical bully; instead, he used words and his celebrated wit to make my life fairly miserable. He knew I was weak, sensitive and insignificant, and he used my weakness, sensitivity and insignificance for his amusement. We barely even knew each other and yet he taunted and labeled me. I used to have a 10-speed bicycle that my uncle had built for me. It was big, heavy, and blue, and I loved it. One day the recently deceased asked me if he could take a ride on my bike. Knowing him to be a big cyclist even then and me wanting desperately to be accepted, I let him. He returned to tell me that my bike was nothing short of a piece of junk. It may sound trivial now but then it was huge to me, and I was crushed. From 8th-12th grade, he found many moments to cut me down, to make me doubt and hate myself. He was just plain mean to me, and I hated him.

That's how I remember D. Part of me says I should forgive and forget, but the other part says it's more complicated than that. Even if it has been over 20 years, why should I forgive him? I mean, have you ever been bullied over a period of years? And because that bully is now dead and because of the manner of his death, I should set aside the pain and anger he caused me and honor his memory? While living, he showed me no compassion and so I'm finding it hard to show compassion for him in his death. I didn't know D. the man, only the teenager, and perhaps he'd grown to be a better man than he was a teenage boy. Perhaps if we had met again years later he would have expressed remorse, maybe even ask for forgiveness, and if he had I think I would've forgiven him. But that didn't happen, and I'm not feeling compelled to forgive him today.

There is for me a certain poetic justice in his death. On more than one occasion his bullying contributed to my adolescent suicidal thoughts, and yet it was D. who was unable to deal with the pain in his life and step back from the ledge. I take no joy in knowing that he was suffering. I am proud, however, that even in the most vulnerable time of my life, when D. and people like him mocked and ridiculed me for no other reason than that they could, I did not break and was able to keep moving forward. He broke.

I do hope he is in a better place, at peace. I feel sympathy for his family and friends, but I do not grieve or pity or feel sorry for him. I will not miss D.S., but I'll never forget him. What does make me a bit sad is that I won't remember him for the good things I'm sure he did in his life or the happiness I'm sure he brought to those he loved because the only memories he left me are memories I'd rather forget.

1 comment:

  1. Similar situation. My 9th grade bully, KA, frightened the crap out of me throughout my first year of high school. She transferred, thank goodness. But 5 years later, when I was 19, I opened up the local section of the newspaper and read about a horrible accident where the female passenger was ejected through the front windshield and it was presumed she died upon impact. It was KA, my bully. Exactly two seconds after the initial shock, I felt nothing. She was a horrible person and death does not bring virtue to the deceased in any way.

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