A kid from Oak Mountain had died from drug overdose, I heard in October last year. The news took me back to eighth grade science, first period. My usually boisterous classmates were eerily somber. We had just found out a close friend of many had died. That time it was a car accident. In the years to come, it would be suicide or a drug overdose.
With each tragedy among the Oak Mountain community, we would mourn, commemorate good memories of him or her on a yearbook page, and eventually, for those distant enough like me, move on to tests, Friday night games and the latest crush. But different whispers of tragedy in the school hallways never would go away.
The girl from youthgroup, the guy living two streets over, the athlete from my third period class — drugs they were smoking, pills they were popping, places they were going late at night.
It was easier for us, and our parents, to move from whispers to talking about what we saw on TV last night or were planning for the weekend than to truly face an issue as fragile as this.
And so that is why I am grateful that Kenneth Lucas has so honestly shared his story, and his heart, with us in this month’s issue. His tragedy has not been swept under the rug. It is our hope that his words will not just be something our community reads, but something each parent, teacher and student sets aside fear of the uncomfortable to discuss and confront.
Revisiting the story of Les Miserables in the new film in theatres has me thinking about the tight grip of darkness in our world and on the streets around us, but also of how bright light is when it comes into that darkness.
As our community faces tough things together, let’s remember Victor Hugo’s hopeful words that come at his story’s end: “Do you hear the people sing, lost in the valley of the night? It is the music of a people who are climbing to the light. For the wretched of the earth, there is a flame that never dies. Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise.”
