As a teacher, has a student's work ever made you concerned for their safety?

A fifth grade girl wrote a “story.” It was about a girl who was very unhappy and thinking of killing herself. Then she described the girl, and the description was of herself. The fictional girl even had the same birthdate.

She ended the “story” by saying that she had talked the girl into not taking her life, and that she was OK now.

A few days later, while students were working on an assignment, I looked over at her desk. She had a large plastic bag and it was full of red pills with a few yellow pills.

I walked over to her desk and said, “Give me that.” and she handed it to me, then went to work on her assignment. I took the bag and walked out the door leaving the students working alone. I was a little worried about leaving them unsupervised, but thought I had better take care of this bag of pills first.

I took it up to the office and gave it to the principal. I told her the name of the girl from whom I had taken it, and also about the essay. Then I went back to class and tried to fake that I was having a normal day. I think I succeeded.

After about an hour, the school secretary came to relieve me and asked me to go back to the office. By this time, I had printed out the girl’s “story.” I took it with me to the office.

The girl’s mother had been called in. When she saw the pills and the “story,” she began to sob.

We decided that we would continue with a normal school day unless something else involving the girl happened. At the end of the day, the mother came a bit before school was actually out, checked her daughter out and drove her up to the psych ward at one of our local hospitals. She had already registered her, so all she had to do was walk in the door.

The girl remained on the psych ward for six weeks. During this time, she tried to slit her wrists but luckily could not find anything sharp enough to do serious damage, and also made the cuts incorrectly.

After six weeks, the psychiatrists felt that she was no longer a danger to herself and released her. She would be back in class the next day.

Nobody had told the other students what had happened, but somehow, they all knew. So, the principal, the counselor, the DARE officer, and I had a meeting with the class and discussed how we should welcome her back. We appealed to them to not do or say anything that might cause her stress. They were good kids. They agreed.

What she had done should have made her ineligible to graduate from DARE (drug abuse resistance education), which was a big thing in fifth grade. But the DARE officer said that he did not want to lock her out because he did not want to cause any setbacks. He said that, since she had straightened herself out and was no longer a threat to herself, that he was going to let her graduate, wear the DARE shirt, and participate in the musical program. The students agreed that they wanted her to graduate with them.

The next day, they welcomed her back. Some girls made a point of including her in play on the playground and also sat with her at lunch. Nobody mentioned the suicide attempt or the scars on her wrists. I told you they were good kids.

Eight years later, I had a phone call. It was the girl. She was now a senior in a high school in another school district and was graduating. She told me she wanted to thank me for saving her life.