The Day We Learned We Lost Jacob

EDITOR’S NOTE: This column was written by Granby Memorial High School student Emily Cote shortly after the sudden passing of schoolmate Jacob Yeakley last week. It is published here with Emily’s permission.

September 3rd, 2015. Granby Memorial High School, Connecticut. Arrival on school grounds: 7:00 a.m. to 8:30 a.m. Arrival in Advisory classrooms: 8:35 a.m.

It was a normal day.

We chatted back and forth about our Chromebooks we were receiving within the hour: who had and who hadn’t handed in a salmon colored form, etc. There was giggling ringing from the back right corner of the room. The heat of the coming day was already wafting through the open windows, and the oscillating fan did nothing to ease the onslaught of sweat, but we didn’t mind yet. It would surely become hotter as the day continued.

It was a normal day.

Our teacher told us that the seniors had an assembly very soon; while she tried to mention this offhandedly, her ordinarily carefree voice was tense. After asking what the assembly was for, she swallowed thickly and looked back to her computer. Maybe she didn’t hear us. We didn’t know.

It was a normal day.

We were told to leave our belongings in the room and go to the auditorium. Continuing our usual banter, we made the trek across the otherwise empty school. It was unusually quiet, but we didn’t notice. We didn’t know.

It was a normal day.

The doors to the theatre remained open as they waited for us, the last class, to arrive. Our conversations trickled to a stop as we noticed that no one else was speaking - a phenomenon that we’ve nearly never experienced as a class. It was dead quiet. The teachers that lined the rows of seats had tears in their eyes not long ago and held a few boxes of scratchy tissues. Murmurs surrounded us about how this assembly wasn’t planned. We were quiet. We didn’t know.

It was a normal day.

The principal held the microphone close and waited for the sound booth to make a couple of adjustments before speaking. The beginning of her speech is now a blur in our memories but one sentence echoed in our ears hours after it was spoken: “We’ve lost Jacob Yeakley.” Everything and everyone stopped. Time stood still for what few minutes we had. Not a single syllable was spoken but the occasional sniffle from an unknown source. We were quiet. We knew.

It was a normal day.

Tissues were passed and the principal’s speech droned on. No one heard it. A few people leaned on one another in couples and rushed down the aisle. Heart-wrenching sobs spilled from the exit doors as everyone remained seated in shock. We couldn’t move. We were quiet. We knew.

It was a normal day.

Some couldn’t stifle their tears. They left the crowd and pushed their way through what teachers manned the exit and collapsed in the hallway. We were not quiet. We knew.

It was a normal day.

Some students were ushered with soft apologies to Guidance where they were consoled and brought to a conference room to meet a pastor and a youth counselor to ‘talk it through.’ Others fled to the Student Union and simply broke in the arms of their friends. We were not quiet. We knew.

It was a normal day.

Social construct and cliques simply did not exist for these few precious hours. ‘Nerds’ comforted ‘jocks.’ ‘Weirdos’ hugged ‘preppies.’ Some who hadn’t spoken a word to one another in years were in shambles in each others’ arms. The entirety of the senior class was in mourning. The pain was only just bearable.

It was a normal day.

We were broken. We were brought together. We were destroyed. This is what tore down the strongest class in the school who has seen the most and yet so little.

September 3rd, 2015. Granby Memorial High School, Connecticut. 8:51 a.m.

It was not a normal day.

This was the day we learned that we lost him.

Rest in Peace, Jacob. We already miss you dearly.

Photo courtesy of Carmon Community Funeral Homes