I had met Kimber as one of the many new students that year. A kind face, a sardonic laugh, smart. Very smart. Got all my jokes, and as we got to know each other told me exactly how bad they were. I loved her sometime in one of those moments. Day after torturous day Kimber would sit in class and stare at blank paper. She could not write. Physically, of course she could, but mentally, emotionally, it would not arrive on the page. I tried all the usual tricks. Made up a few more. Experimented with her permission. Once in a while a few sentences would dribble out which were often quite brilliant, if brief, but she was not satisfied with her output. I understood her discouragement, there was poetry in her. I could feel it and I couldn't seem to help her share it. One day, Tanya (another of her teachers) and I squatted down beside the table where Kimber sat. We were determined to help her figure out how to make this different. Kimber stayed with us, worked after school, but still it didn't flow. Some time along the way I spoke to the class of the courage it takes to write. That sometimes we can't write because we know that the truth will fall out of our pencils and onto the page - and we are afraid. We are afraid someone will see us. Maybe they will judge us, maybe be afraid of us, not like us, or not understand us. Even if they like the poem or story it can be scary. Kimber and I talked about that from time to time. Maybe that was part of what started the writing. Genuine, moving poetry. Work that did reveal her. Work that she was willing to polish and learn how to bring more power to the message. I was so proud of her. Her courage, her intelligence, her skills. In November I got a poem from her that chilled me. It was the most powerful poem I had seen of hers. It was moving, it was desperate, and I had to ask if it was about her or if it was from her imagination. It was about her and her despair. We met, we talked, she reluctantly agreed to meet with Stephanie, the very caring, compassionate, and skilled counsellor at her school. I grieve that a girl with such a glimmer in her eye and poetry in her soul decided that she would die now. I respect her right to make the decision to end her life - but I sure don't agree with it! I know the hill she would have to climb to find the sweetness and happiness she deserved was a steep one. No one of us can judge how one might handle that fact. I hope her writing will be a connection to the power of Kimber and to her memory.