OLIVIA’S STORY

Often teachers influence the futures of their students.
It is also true that students contribute to the life trajectory of their teachers.

Our logo at Called to Love Consulting personifies this. This blog post tells the story:

****TRIGGER WARNING: This post discusses death by suicide and concerns with mental health. Reader discretion is advised. 

In the time when I usually made photocopies, planned for upcoming classes and marked assignments, the then 16-year-old grade 11 student Olivia Roberts would pepper me with questions.  I never knew where her inquiries might lead: contemplation of the Chakra system and its intersections with Western medicine, considerations of quantum physics and their impact on spirituality, or even showing off cute cat videos were all possible when interacting with Olivia.

I encouraged Olivia’s exploration, though I suggested that perhaps her thoughts would be better shared when she wasn’t supposed to be in a colleague’s class. Olivia’s eyes sparkled as she reminded me of the over-90 average she maintained, whether she attended class or not. 

It was hard to argue with her logic.

Sometimes I would shoo her out, asking her if her other teachers missed her.  She had a way of staying ‘just to share one more story’ about the latest book, philosopher, or conversation she was having with one of her family members. 

I will admit at times I made excuses and avoided her visits. I had work to do. I had papers to grade. I was busy. One day, she shared with me the piece of art featured here. Olivia explained that the dove’s heart was broken but it was a symbol of peace. Even then, she knew that peace in life often comes through enduring pain. The rainbow emanating from the wings of the bird symbolized her growing awareness of her sexual orientation. 

Occasionally, when I either succumbed to her persistence, or had finished my marking, I couldn’t bring myself to force her on to her next class. One such day, she shared that she was in love with a girl and wanted to know if I was ok with this and, of course, I was. I remember sharing that I hoped that her partner treated her with love and kindness and valued the beautiful creation that she was.

Shortly after I taught her, I left the school for a leadership role as a program coordinator. This meant that I no longer saw Olivia regularly but I visited her at the school when some of her other teachers shared that she was struggling with her mental health.

I became worried about her as she seemed to have lost her sparkle, her mischievous manner that ever-so-sweetly convinced me to let her stay when I knew I should make her go to her next class. 

Olivia tried to convince me she was fine. I was not so sure.  Her romantic relationship had ended. Some of her other relationships were strained. Her teachers worried. I worried. We didn’t know what to do.

I wish I could say that this story had a happy ending.

I cannot, and will not forget the text I received about her death by suicide.

I cannot, and will not, forget Olivia Roberts.

I attended her funeral, an experience far too difficult to share in detail here. There are some memories so devastating, so profoundly beyond what the soul can tolerate. I put the details around Olivia’s death and her funeral in this category.

Students change the life directory of their teachers. Olivia, James and so many others have changed mine. 

Over a year after she died, I found the painting featured in this blog in a stack of assignments never reclaimed by the students who created them. I looked at it again. She completed it two years before she died. Upon its rediscovery, I sat in contemplation for a while. 

Olivia’s dove remained on the shelf while I pondered over the following months.

I was asked to present a keynote called ‘Called to Love: 2SLGBTQIA+ Students and Catholic schools.’ In preparation, I returned to the painting and what telling Olivia’s story might mean. I knew it would mean voicing heartbreak. It would mean thoughtfully considering how I might accomplish sharing this image, and the story of Olivia, in the best way possible. 

In my discernment, I reached out to Olivia’s family. Her mother shared that she wanted me to do whatever I could to keep the memory of Olivia alive, including giving me permission to use her art to inspire the logo at Called to Love. Her mother shared that she wanted people to know that Olivia was SO MUCH MORE than her sexual orientation and her struggles with her mental health. 

So here goes:

Olivia was kind. She was compassionate. On a school trip to Nicaragua, her round rimmed yellow-tinted glasses and affection for Miley Cyrus’ work on mental health led us to call her our ‘Happy Hippie:’ a moniker she encouraged. She was profoundly intelligent, and often I would save her assignments to last when I was marking so that I could feel uplifted by the wise insights she shared despite her youth. 

Olivia’s gifts were so prolific that many of her teachers pondered what she would choose as a career pathway. She could have been a neuroscientist. She could have been an artist. And she would have made the most compassionate teacher, social worker, therapist or just about anything else.

Olivia’s life was short. It was beautiful. It was noteworthy. The manner of her death should never be permitted to negate this. 

I am not sure I will ever stop grieving her passing. But I am dedicated to taking the bleeding heart depicted in her art and doing what I can to turn it into more inclusive, more positive spaces for 2SLGBTQIA+ students. Olivia was very clear that she wanted to make the world a better place. Her mother Catherine continues this wish through her advocacy for the gender-sexuality alliance at Olivia’s former elementary school. 

So this ending is not happy, but it is hopeful. Olivia made the world a better place. She made my life better for having been in it. In this work, we hold her spirit aloft like a dove with a broken heart, healing mid flight, adorned with a pair of beautiful rainbow wings.