I offer my deep condolences to Laurie, Gregg, and especially Aidan, whom, like Austin, I worked with as college adviser here at Albuquerque Academy. Austin so clearly knew his mind in the college process, and was so easy to work with. In the end, his decision came down to two colleges, one of which would be a challenge for him personally, and the other being University of Chicago. Although intrigued with the personally challenging option, in the end, Austin could not ignore the allure of Chicago, it was so right for him. “It is who I am,” he told me once. And he was right. I am so glad I got to see Austin on campus in May of 2012 when I visited UChicago for a counselor program. He was clearly happy to be in his element.
As the scary, and then very sad news came in, I was attending a program called College Horizons on the island of Hawaii. The program assists Native American and Native Hawaiian students in the college application process. We do work in small groups of students with five faculty members. Included in my small group, amazingly enough, was Andrea Mondragon, our New Mexico admissions representative for UChicago. Together Andrea and I worried, and then grieved.
The last day of the program the whole group of faculty and students climbed a nearby mountain, Pu'u Hoku'ula. At the top, Andrea and I talked about Austin, and how he would have loved that climb. He would have been amazed to look over Hawaii’s majestic mountains on one side, and the ocean on the other. He would have been fascinated at how fast the temperature and visibility shifted from moment to moment.
As we held each other and mourned, and cried, a group of the Native Hawaiian students lined up at the summit and began to sing, “Oli Mahalo,” a Hawaiian song of thanks. The last lines were translated for me as “Gratitude, admiration, thanks, and love—To all who are present, both seen and unseen.”
I leave you with a photo of those students singing, and with gratitude, admiration, thanks, and love for Austin’s memory.
As the scary, and then very sad news came in, I was attending a program called College Horizons on the island of Hawaii. The program assists Native American and Native Hawaiian students in the college application process. We do work in small groups of students with five faculty members. Included in my small group, amazingly enough, was Andrea Mondragon, our New Mexico admissions representative for UChicago. Together Andrea and I worried, and then grieved.
The last day of the program the whole group of faculty and students climbed a nearby mountain, Pu'u Hoku'ula. At the top, Andrea and I talked about Austin, and how he would have loved that climb. He would have been amazed to look over Hawaii’s majestic mountains on one side, and the ocean on the other. He would have been fascinated at how fast the temperature and visibility shifted from moment to moment.
As we held each other and mourned, and cried, a group of the Native Hawaiian students lined up at the summit and began to sing, “Oli Mahalo,” a Hawaiian song of thanks. The last lines were translated for me as “Gratitude, admiration, thanks, and love—To all who are present, both seen and unseen.”
I leave you with a photo of those students singing, and with gratitude, admiration, thanks, and love for Austin’s memory.
I offer my deep condolences to Laurie, Gregg, and especially Aidan, whom, like Austin, I worked with as college adviser here at Albuquerque Academy. Austin so clearly knew his mind in the college process, and was so easy to work with. In the end, his decision came down to two colleges, one of which would be a challenge for him personally, and the other being University of Chicago. Although intrigued with the personally challenging option, in the end, Austin could not ignore the allure of Chicago, it was so right for him. “It is who I am,” he told me once. And he was right. I am so glad I got to see Austin on campus in May of 2012 when I visited UChicago for a counselor program. He was clearly happy to be in his element.
As the scary, and then very sad news came in, I was attending a program called College Horizons on the island of Hawaii. The program assists Native American and Native Hawaiian students in the college application process. We do work in small groups of students with five faculty members. Included in my small group, amazingly enough, was Andrea Mondragon, our New Mexico admissions representative for UChicago. Together Andrea and I worried, and then grieved.
The last day of the program the whole group of faculty and students climbed a nearby mountain, Pu'u Hoku'ula. At the top, Andrea and I talked about Austin, and how he would have loved that climb. He would have been amazed to look over Hawaii’s majestic mountains on one side, and the ocean on the other. He would have been fascinated at how fast the temperature and visibility shifted from moment to moment.
As we held each other and mourned, and cried, a group of the Native Hawaiian students lined up at the summit and began to sing, “Oli Mahalo,” a Hawaiian song of thanks. The last lines were translated for me as “Gratitude, admiration, thanks, and love—To all who are present, both seen and unseen.”
I leave you with a photo of those students singing, and with gratitude, admiration, thanks, and love for Austin’s memory.
As the scary, and then very sad news came in, I was attending a program called College Horizons on the island of Hawaii. The program assists Native American and Native Hawaiian students in the college application process. We do work in small groups of students with five faculty members. Included in my small group, amazingly enough, was Andrea Mondragon, our New Mexico admissions representative for UChicago. Together Andrea and I worried, and then grieved.
The last day of the program the whole group of faculty and students climbed a nearby mountain, Pu'u Hoku'ula. At the top, Andrea and I talked about Austin, and how he would have loved that climb. He would have been amazed to look over Hawaii’s majestic mountains on one side, and the ocean on the other. He would have been fascinated at how fast the temperature and visibility shifted from moment to moment.
As we held each other and mourned, and cried, a group of the Native Hawaiian students lined up at the summit and began to sing, “Oli Mahalo,” a Hawaiian song of thanks. The last lines were translated for me as “Gratitude, admiration, thanks, and love—To all who are present, both seen and unseen.”
I leave you with a photo of those students singing, and with gratitude, admiration, thanks, and love for Austin’s memory.
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