Untitled.

I just received word this evening that one of my students passed away this weekend of an asthma attack. He was a kindergartner this year, one I've met several times for a variety of reasons, and he always left an impression on me. Just last week, I met his mom, when she brought in an inhaler for him to have at school. The paperwork for her son was insufficient, but I ended up accepting her son's emergency department discharge paperwork instead of the district medication form we use so she wouldn't have to wait for a doctor's appointment to have the medication at school. "I want inhalers here, we can work on formalizing the paperwork later," I told her. 

Her son came to me first thing that Tuesday morning, and I could see that he needed his inhaler, so I coached him through it. Just over an hour later, he came to my office again asking to use the inhaler. I listened to his lungs and explained to him that his lungs sounded clear. He said he was "scared" of having trouble breathing - and who could blame him - which was why he wanted his inhaler again. We talked at length about staying calm and techniques to do so, and he gave me a high five on his way out the door. 

And now, he is gone.