one of ours

On Sunday morning, I woke up to see two safety alerts from UA about a shooting that had occured off campus.  We’re required to send out these alerts by email within a certain amount of time and it seemed more serious than some, but not enough details to really get a sense of it   I let it go – though I felt bad for a coworker that I knew had to have gotten up in the middle of the night to send them.

Later that day, Jim and I were in a store and I randomly decided to check my email.  There was a message from UA’s President – one of the victims had been an 18 year old UA student.

I literally stopped in my tracks and read the message again.   We didn’t stay much longer and on the drive home I kept thinking about her – this nameless and faceless young woman that had lost her life.

Over the next few days, more details emerged.  There had been a big off-campus party after the football game with many non-students there.  There was a fight, then someone pulled a gun.  Of the shots fired, two young men were injured and taken to the hospital.  The young woman was pronounced dead at the scene with a gunshot to the chest. None of them were the real targets – all innocent bystanders.

Amidst the calls for better security and safety measures – and justified anger and sorrow on social media – one more fact emerged.

Her name was Maya.

There was a press conference today – more sorrow, more anger, more calls for action.  And a reward for information.   The short term plans are aggressive and even with the expected amount of finger-pointing, everyone seems largely on board with “making things better” – though nothing I heard will really address the root problems.

She was one of ours and nothing will bring her back.

I might never have crossed paths with Maya during her time at UA even if she had gotten her full allotment – it’s a big campus and there are so many people.  But, like many of us who work at universities, there is a feeling of trying to protect and nurture all the students there.  They pass into our lives and then just as quickly slip away – most going on to do great things.  And some, like Maya, have their dreams cut short.

In the middle of all of this directionless grief, there was a bright moment for me.

Many years ago, the UA webteam hired a smart and engaging young woman to work with us.  She was from Romania and was one of the best student assistants we ever had.  One Friday afternoon she mentioned that she was feeling a little homesick – this was the time of year that her family had a tradition of exchanging snowbells, little white flowers, and she was a long way from home.

Over the weekend, I found a diagram on how to make origami snowbells and by Monday I had crafted a whole spray of these tiny flowers.  I left them on her desk to find when she next came in – and she thanked me with tears in her eyes at the gesture.

Her name is Ana.

Ana switched to another department after a while, earned her degree, and returned home after graduation – I made it a point to go to the ceremony.  We connected on Facebook and I saw her continue to excel, travel throughout Europe, and get married.

And then, out of the blue, she showed up in my inbox with a question about her email.  She had sent it to the webmaster@uakron.edu as a general question, not realizing I was behind that account. 

I responded back with an excited message and answered her question – and hoped she was doing well.  She replied back that she was delighted to hear from me, congratulated me on my house, and told me she had just bought a home with her husband as well. 

We’ve had a nice exchange back and forth – and her kindness and warmth continue to shine through even an email.

Fate is a funny thing.  Two young women came to our campus and our city.   Both with dreams and excitement for their futures. 

I miss Ana.  And I never got to know Maya.

So we mourn those that are lost and celebrate those that thrive –  and hope for the future of our campus and our city.