People say that you always remember significant events in your life with extreme clarity, and this moment is one I will never forget.
I was just leaving a meeting in the Art and Journalism building Feb 9, 2009, when I noticed I had a missed call from my mom. As I stepped outside into the dark, evening air, the wind picked up and made me shiver. I called her back, but when she answered I knew something was wrong. She could only utter out "Tara, Jason's dead," before bursting into tears on the other line.
In the middle of the median on McKinley Avenue, I sat down on a platform in shock. Jason Dragos, our amiable neighbor, close family friend, devoted husband and father of two young children with one on the way, was found shot.
"Tara, do you think you can make it to the funeral?" my mom said, sobbing. "He'd want you to be there. Jason would want you to be there..."
In that brief, fleeting moment of clarity, I knew that no one was going to keep me from going. No one was preventing me from saying goodbye to Jason. I was then faced with the difficult task of approaching my teachers with the awful news.
Yet, they understood, and told me what I would miss and what was due when I returned. No one asked questions, they relayed their sympathies and wished me a safe trip home.
But not everything went smoothly.
Once my last class was over, I approached my math teacher (who has since retired) about missing class for a funeral. Instead of apologizing for my loss, she proceeded to drill me with questions: "Who died? What happened? What do you mean you're not sure when the funeral is?"
I told her that it was a homicide and police were still investigating his death, thus the unknown date of his funeral. Nonetheless, she told me that I couldn't make up any quizzes or tests because the funeral was not for an "immediate family member." She told me to meet her in her office when I returned to school to get the notes and assignments I would miss.
When I returned to school the Monday following Jason's funeral, I met my math teacher in her office. Shocked to see me, she denied telling me to meet her and told me that I should have gotten the notes and homework assignments from my classmates because she "doesn't re-teach things."
Going to college is a difficult process. As students we juggle projects, homework and tests. Most of us also take out loans for the thousands of dollars our classes cost. So I was very upset that the phrase "re-teach" left her lips, especially since I was paying to take this mandatory class. No one expects to have to mourn the loss of someone close to them.
She could have told me from the beginning to get notes from a classmate, but she didn't. I decided to make an appointment to speak to someone else in the department; I only asked that the rules for missing a class, even for a funeral, be clearly marked in the syllabus so that no questions and "miscommunications" can arise. I didn't want another mourning student to get the runaround for a few notes.
However, instead of listening to what I had to say, I was met with sarcasm and patronization from the chairwoman. Everything I said was thrown back in my face. It was essentially my fault for not understanding the teacher correctly and it wasn't her job to tell me what I missed. Angry and in tears, I left her office mid-meeting.
A year later, what has Ball State University accomplished?
In the Ball State University Bill of Rights and Responsibilities, it states that students will be excused from class in the event of a death of a member of the students' immediate family or household, including father, mother, husband, wife, grandmother and grandfather. It even includes stepmothers, stepfathers, brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law. The amount of time away depends on how far away the funeral services are. Unfortunately, close family friends, neighbors and classmates are not included.
Despite this, Ball State seems to strive to create a family-like atmosphere among its students. We are required to live in the dorms our freshman year with people with similar majors. We are encouraged to join student organizations, fraternities and sororities. Our advisers act as our mentors, helping us grow academically and professionally.
But if something happens to your roommate, your sorority sister, your fraternity brother or your favorite professor, Ball State will not admit time for you to grieve.
This policy needs to change. Students should at least get one day off from school for a funeral — immediate family or not — and every professor should have a policy established at the beginning of the semester so miscommunications can be avoided.
For the skeptical professors, students can provide a funeral card with the date of the funeral on it, further proof that the day was not spent in vain.
If students are still unsatisfied with the treatment from their professor, they are encouraged to air their grievances with the professor and the department chairperson, courtesy of Appendix M, the "Student Funeral and Bereavement Policy." However, this measure obviously didn't end positively for me.
It has been one year since Jason's death; his boss is in jail and awaiting trial on charges of murder, his daughter Sophie will be 1 year old next month and his car takes me around Muncie and on the occasional trip home. I think about him and his family every day. I just wish that the horrible experience of missing class was not a part of that remembrance.
Write to Tara at tljones4@bsu.edu.