You'd be proud of your classmates, Nini. Your teachers, too. This first week without you was a kick in the gut. Even now, we stumble in the middle of speaking, walking, breathing. How can this be? Our minds will not comprehend your passing.
Only days before, I have scolded you in my English class.
"You didn't follow the assignment," I explain, "which was to write about a grandparent."
"But I want to write about my mom," you say with that quiet stubbornness I know so well. "She's had an interesting life, and I want to share her story."
You are never a demanding child, but you are a determined one, and I suddenly lose the will to argue.
"Fine, Nini," I sigh. "Do it your way."
Even though you're pale and unwell, I am irritated and hardly bother to ask you about your ailing asthma. But the essay you read to all of us about your brave mother - a young woman who left VietNam with your father to come to America - touches and inspires us all. Was that only a week ago Monday, Nina?
When your principal Jordan Engle summons us with the news that you've collapsed, your teachers gather together at school. Some weep, others sit dazed in the school library. There is nothing much to say, but we find comfort in the nearness of each other.
Your religion teacher Mrs.Dee Hanssen springs into action rocking Mrs. Amy May's baby daughter, handing out bottled water, leading a Rosary. With Father Sid Bruggeman, she quickly prepares the chapel for a hastily arranged Mass.
Her small but kind ministrations soothe us and strangely bring helpless tears to my eyes. Praying fervently together in the newly renovated chapel, still smelling of new paint and fresh pine, your teachers give you to Jesus.
After Mass in the school hallway, small Lillie Encinger runs straight to teacher Jennifer Koralewski. The best friend of your little sister, Lillie sobs in Mrs. Koralewski's arms. I will never forget how Sheridan Puncochar, a sweet eighth grade girl filled with concern for her distressed friend, pats Lillie awkwardly on her shoulder.
All week long your classmates and teachers reach out to each other.
Your own best friend Lizzie Calderon drives to Omaha to be with your family in your hospital room. She is with you until the very end when your family must make the terrible decision to remove you from life support.
Your cheerleader sponsors Kate Schendt and Makenzie Mudloff lovingly paste scrapbook photos together for your grieving family. Mr. Engle, in only his second year as principal, rises to the task at hand and works hard to make all our kids feel safe.
That first day back at school, comfort dogs receive GICC students in the library. Father Jim Golka who patiently ministered to you and your family in the hospital now counsels your friends through the terrible first day without you. Emilie Ziller, a fellow cheerleader, silently leaves class to pull herself together and prop up others. I am dreading the thought of your empty desk in English class, but Ashlyn Kucera wordlessly slips into your seat to fill in the gaping space.
Hardly able to speak, your classmate Raegan Gellatly asks me finally if she might have the poem she wrote about you in English. I make sure also to give Miss Lucy Long, our student teacher, the beautiful poem you penned.
"Miss Long is like a cup of tea - " you wrote. "Calm, relaxed, nice. Making me feel warm inside."
We long for these small momentoes of your life. They make you seem very close.
At the end of the week when we know you are safely in Heaven and funeral arrangements have been made, we all relax a little and begin to conduct business as usual.
Miss Long poses a question to our 6th mod senior English class: Would you rather possess more intelligence than good looks or more good looks than intelligence?
Without hesitation class clown Sam Herbek replies, "I'm fortunately lucky enough to possess both."
We laugh. We laugh hard. Maybe too hard. It's a great release and the beginning of healing.
Your classmates will graduate without you next year. They will attend college and work and marry and raise families. Eager to gather at good ol' GICC for a class reunion in the far distant future, they'll return as gray-haired grandparents. But you, Nini, will always be16.
Someone will say, "Remember the day Colby Setlick accidentally set off the fire alarm in weight lifting class?"
Others will remember with great laughter the dead goose seniors buried behind the track memorializing its grave with cast off corsages and boutonnieres.
They will recall Mrs. Peter's glorious lunches, Tanner Turek's undying passion for the losing Cleveland Browns, and Johnny Partington's stellar dance performance at Homecoming.
Finally, someone will say, bringing a hushed silence, "That was the year we lost Nini."
Today we say our last goodbyes. At Blessed Sacrament Church, Father Marty Egging reminds us during your funeral of your courageous decision to leave the devout faith of your good Vietnamese family and to embark on your own journey to Catholicism. Last year you are confirmed and even teach CCD classes with your best buddy Lizzie.
"Nini longed for Christ," Father Marty says simply.
Your 16-year-old faith is our biggest comfort, dear Nini. Thank you for that last gift. Thank you for the smile that crinkled your nose, your swinging pony tail, and your infectious laugh.
Somewhere you're laughing and dancing and leaping with Jesus in a lovely place of light.
We will see you there, sweet Nini.
 |
| Nini Pham |
Only days before, I have scolded you in my English class.
"You didn't follow the assignment," I explain, "which was to write about a grandparent."
"But I want to write about my mom," you say with that quiet stubbornness I know so well. "She's had an interesting life, and I want to share her story."
You are never a demanding child, but you are a determined one, and I suddenly lose the will to argue.
"Fine, Nini," I sigh. "Do it your way."
Even though you're pale and unwell, I am irritated and hardly bother to ask you about your ailing asthma. But the essay you read to all of us about your brave mother - a young woman who left VietNam with your father to come to America - touches and inspires us all. Was that only a week ago Monday, Nina?
When your principal Jordan Engle summons us with the news that you've collapsed, your teachers gather together at school. Some weep, others sit dazed in the school library. There is nothing much to say, but we find comfort in the nearness of each other.
Your religion teacher Mrs.Dee Hanssen springs into action rocking Mrs. Amy May's baby daughter, handing out bottled water, leading a Rosary. With Father Sid Bruggeman, she quickly prepares the chapel for a hastily arranged Mass.
Her small but kind ministrations soothe us and strangely bring helpless tears to my eyes. Praying fervently together in the newly renovated chapel, still smelling of new paint and fresh pine, your teachers give you to Jesus.
 |
| Nini, center, with her little sister Tina and Tina's best friend Lillie Encinger. |
All week long your classmates and teachers reach out to each other.
Your own best friend Lizzie Calderon drives to Omaha to be with your family in your hospital room. She is with you until the very end when your family must make the terrible decision to remove you from life support.
Your cheerleader sponsors Kate Schendt and Makenzie Mudloff lovingly paste scrapbook photos together for your grieving family. Mr. Engle, in only his second year as principal, rises to the task at hand and works hard to make all our kids feel safe.
That first day back at school, comfort dogs receive GICC students in the library. Father Jim Golka who patiently ministered to you and your family in the hospital now counsels your friends through the terrible first day without you. Emilie Ziller, a fellow cheerleader, silently leaves class to pull herself together and prop up others. I am dreading the thought of your empty desk in English class, but Ashlyn Kucera wordlessly slips into your seat to fill in the gaping space.
 |
| Nini and best friend Lizzie Calderon |
Hardly able to speak, your classmate Raegan Gellatly asks me finally if she might have the poem she wrote about you in English. I make sure also to give Miss Lucy Long, our student teacher, the beautiful poem you penned.
"Miss Long is like a cup of tea - " you wrote. "Calm, relaxed, nice. Making me feel warm inside."
We long for these small momentoes of your life. They make you seem very close.
At the end of the week when we know you are safely in Heaven and funeral arrangements have been made, we all relax a little and begin to conduct business as usual.
Miss Long poses a question to our 6th mod senior English class: Would you rather possess more intelligence than good looks or more good looks than intelligence?
 |
| Nini with classmate and homecoming date Russ Martinez. |
We laugh. We laugh hard. Maybe too hard. It's a great release and the beginning of healing.
Your classmates will graduate without you next year. They will attend college and work and marry and raise families. Eager to gather at good ol' GICC for a class reunion in the far distant future, they'll return as gray-haired grandparents. But you, Nini, will always be16.
Someone will say, "Remember the day Colby Setlick accidentally set off the fire alarm in weight lifting class?"
Others will remember with great laughter the dead goose seniors buried behind the track memorializing its grave with cast off corsages and boutonnieres.
They will recall Mrs. Peter's glorious lunches, Tanner Turek's undying passion for the losing Cleveland Browns, and Johnny Partington's stellar dance performance at Homecoming.
Finally, someone will say, bringing a hushed silence, "That was the year we lost Nini."
 |
| Nini Pham 2002-2019 |
"Nini longed for Christ," Father Marty says simply.
Your 16-year-old faith is our biggest comfort, dear Nini. Thank you for that last gift. Thank you for the smile that crinkled your nose, your swinging pony tail, and your infectious laugh.
Somewhere you're laughing and dancing and leaping with Jesus in a lovely place of light.
We will see you there, sweet Nini.
