A letter of thanks to alums in the classes of 1998–2022

In early June my son, Mitchell, passed away from a fentanyl overdose. He was 18. I will not even try to convey the horror of those first few weeks; my memories are a confused tangle of the agonizingly sharp and the incomprehensibly blurry. I cannot revisit those days without being overcome by grief. My wife, Raquel, our daughter, Rhys, and I all felt as if we could not possibly go on.

Into that darkness stepped three beloved Wheaton colleagues and friends. Deyonne Bryant, Paula Smith-MacDonald and Bill Goldbloom Bloch put aside everything in their own lives to make sure one of them was with us nearly every waking hour, guiding us, at times quite literally step by step, through the agony of the funeral and the unnumbered tears of the celebration of Mitchell’s life.

Colleagues, friends and college leaders helped lead us through the darkness, and then, suddenly, my former students flooded our lives with their light. Calls, texts, emails, Facebook messages, cards, flowers, food and music all poured into the house.

Students I have taught over the past 25 years sent condolences, offered prayers and—even more precious—they brought themselves. At Mitchell’s funeral, there was a student who was my research partner the year Mitchell was born. Among those gathered at his celebration of life was the very first Wheaton student I ever met, who gave me my campus tour when I interviewed in 1997. Near her stood a student from the first class I taught at Wheaton, and next to him was a 2021 graduate.

One student flew in from Illinois. Some of the students attending graduated before Mitchell was born. Others had known him only as a baby in a stroller, as an excitable 5-year-old playing with toy cars in the back of my Tolkien class, or as a grumpy teenager visiting the Lexomics Lab. They stood for an hour in the pouring rain and they cried with us, hugged us and held our hands while sharing their memories of him. They did everything that could be done to help us through our pain.

And the helping did not end there. Although everyone I have talked to has said that there was no planning, no organizing behind the scenes, somehow former students took care of me and my family three to four nights per week, every single week for the next two months. They sent messages “just to check in to see how you are doing.” They took us to brunch and dinner or came to the house to sit on the porch and play with the dogs. They cajoled me into joining their online Dungeons & Dragons game. They insisted I visit them when I was leading a tour in the U.K. They gave us gifts of handmade stained glass, inspirational quotes, books they thought might be helpful, letters describing their own efforts at dealing with grief and loss.

In all honesty, I can now say that I have lived through the scene at the end of “It’s a Wonderful Life” when, in George Bailey’s darkest hour, those he had helped suddenly came to his aid. If my heart was not so broken, it would be filled with joy.

In the rare moments when I can get myself to think objectively about all this, I realize that I am not truly surprised. Over a quarter-century of teaching Wheaton students, I have learned what kind of people they are and what is in their hearts. But I am still utterly astounded that so many would give so much— much more than ever I gave to them.

There is no possible way that anyone could ever have “earned” this much kindness and generosity, but such grace is all the more blessed because, being undeserved, it is a pure gift. I remain so overwhelmed that I cannot express my gratitude to you, my former students, in words other than these: I love you, and I will never forget what you have done.

Thank you,

Michael Drout Professor and Chair of English