Today I understand what it feels like to be part of a statistic. As a teacher, I saw people turn my students into faceless numbers. They talk about them in a way that evokes no passion and calls to mind no important memories.

Today I understand what it feels like to be part of a statistic. Today, I became someone for whom the next statistic does now evoke passion and call to mind important memories:

On average someone is killed by a drunk driver every 39 minutes.

Today I understand what it feels like to be part of a statistic. Today, my aunt was killed by a drunk driver.

For those reading this, you may wonder why I’m choosing to talk about this here, on my blog. How does this personal matter truly extend into the realm of education matters?

Today, by chance, I checked on a proposal that’s pending expiration at DonorsChoose.org. When I visited the page, I found out that only one person had donated to the project: my aunt.

When my mom called me today with the news of what had happened, I was, of course, extremely shocked. But finding this reminder of my aunt’s good will and warm heart in the same day was for me the moment that I had to actualize she is gone.

I can’t thank her. I can’t email her. But I can miss her, and I can let everyone know that while the above is a statistic, today one of those people was a kind and wonderful woman who was snatched away from all of us way too suddenly and too soon.