August 26, 2024
The day of his best friend’s funeral, sophomore Issac Gregory had a lab in chemistry, but he barely participated.
He had a lesson in honors algebra two, but didn’t take notes or grab the homework.
He was on autopilot. For the past week Gregory had been memorizing a scripture to read at Ovet Gomez Regalado’s funeral.
Ovet passed away after being hospitalized on August 16 following a medical emergency at football conditioning.
Gregory had yet to accept the loss. It all happened so quickly.
What if he forgets Ovet’s smile, or his bear hugs? What if he forgets about their long conversations, or inside jokes? What if he forgets about the time Ovet brought him chicken wings when he was concerned about body image, and they ate the whole plate together?
“I still tell myself he’s on vacation or just taking a nap,” Gregory said.
That day, he left school, went home, changed and arrived at church.
One by one family, friends, teachers, students, administrators and football players started to arrive. Many hugged Ray, Ovet’s older brother, at the door.
Gregory’s necktie felt tight as he approached the lectern.
Daisies, roses, dianthus and peace lilies were strewn at the altar while sniffles reverberated against vaulted ceilings.
Everyone leaned in to listen. The church grew quiet.
Ovet was the fourth Shawnee Mission Northwest student in 13 months to pass away.
The deaths of Will Ensley, Demarcus Houston, Alex Camacho and Ovet have all been vastly different, and all have shaken the Northwest community.
With the beginning of this school year marked by yet another tragedy, both students and teachers are again struggling to grasp with death. This is the story of a high school coping with loss and grief while trying to find hope in new beginnings.
August 16, 2024
When teacher Katelyn Rollins read the email, she didn’t believe it. She looked over it once. Twice.
Ovet, the kid who always had a smile on his face in Rollin’s seminar class last year, was gone.
Ovet, the kid who would walk into Rollins’ other hours with a bathroom pass just to give her a fist bump, was gone.
Ovet, the kid who brought two giant family sized bags of candy to share with every single one of his classmates — even the upperclassmen who came to Rollins for math help, even total strangers — was gone.
Rollins tried to hold it together in front of her freshman English class. Many knew Ovet from Trailridge Middle School.
What happened?
Was he sick?
I saw him on Wednesday, how could he die?
She tried to answer their questions.
The fifth hour bell rang. Rollins found an empty classroom and broke down.
“He’s just such an amazing, happy, outgoing person,” Rollins said. “One of the nicest people I’ve met.”
It’s been weeks since the email came, but sometimes Rollins still cries.
“I kept reminding myself, ‘Gotta keep going forward. I’m gonna be okay. I’m gonna try to do something nice today,’” Rollins said. “Trying to keep that memory of him in something I do.”
Ovet is one of four students who have recently passed away, their legacies resting with those who remember them.
Will Ensley, a rising senior, died last July 26, when a dump truck slammed into him at a stoplight, triggering a nine-car pile up. Will was an honors student and varsity swimmer, holding the school record for breaststroke. He was the kind of person who would drop everything to help someone in need, always pay for dates and say “I love you” on a six month anniversary.
Senior Demarcus Houston was shot the night of Nov. 16 in Kansas City, Mo., two miles from Arrowhead Stadium. Demarcus worked hard in school and kept his head down. He was a quiet kid that loved the city. He valued deep conversations and talked about starting his own business someday, creating a clothing line or producing music.
Junior Alex Camacho battled cancer for many years and passed away on April 12. Alex was shy, and considerate. He liked telling jokes and making people smile. He played video games for fun, passed out gum in class and shared hoodies with his friends.
All were on the path to graduate.
Four students in 13 months.
In a school of 1,600, statistically only one student would pass away in a year according to teen death rates from the Center for Disease Control and Prevention. Four is nearly unheard of.
After Ovet’s passing, senior Logan Morley helped organize a balloon release at the Northwest football field on August 17.
“I told all the football guys to spread word,” Morley said. “His family deserves it. He was so loved by everyone.”
Around 200 community members arrived to show their support for the Gomez Regalado family. Nearly all tied green balloons to the fence around the tennis courts — green was Ovet’s favorite color.
Those balloons have since deflated and flown away, but the community’s grief remains. Students and teachers are still trying to navigate this painful loss and, at times, they don’t know how to.
Even without being close to many of the students who passed, senior Sophia Jackson gets hit with waves of sadness multiple times a day. There are points where she doesn’t want to talk with anyone and the pain is unbearable. Sometimes, late at night, she’ll sit in her bedroom alone, expressionless.
We could’ve done more.
That could’ve been me.
“What if the announcement comes on again and it’s someone I was just talking to?” Jackson said.
She carries that weight with her every day.
Still, for some, the news of Ovet’s passing was a reminder of all those lost before.
Like Mac Herbst.
A year ago, Herbst heard of his friend Will’s passing while on a break at work. For two days, he couldn’t think. He couldn’t do anything. He had looked up to Will since middle school.
How do teenagers process the loss of a classmate? Or teammate? Or friend?
“Death doesn’t come at an easy time,” Herbst said. “It’s a reality check. Everyone has lost someone they love. Everything is finite. It’s bad, but good to know that there’s other people, not just me grieving the loss of my friend.”
Herbst spent so much time searching for answers, trying to make sense of what happened. Others know that the deaths of those so young shouldn’t make sense.
When ELL teacher Nancy Blackburn heard the news about Ovet, she thought one thing: “Fifteen year olds are not supposed to die.”
Fifteen year olds were supposed to go to football games, and homecoming, and prom and graduation. They were supposed to grow up and attend college, go on to careers, get married, become parents.
They were not supposed to have medical emergencies at football conditioning. They were not supposed to have cancer. They were not supposed to be shot. They were not supposed to get in nine car pile ups.
“They will never get to experience growing up,” Blackburn said.
Blackburn had Alex in her studies skills class in 2021, his freshman year. She and Alex bonded over their shared experience of battling cancer.
A picture of Alex is pinned to a cork board in Blackburn’s classroom by her desk. A story that ran in the Northwest Passage last year about Alex is framed, resting atop a shelf. While others may move on, Blackburn won’t forget her student who passed away.
“Remember Ovet,” she said. “Remember Alejandro. Remember all these people who are no longer here.”
August 25, 2024
As teacher and football coach William Dent stepped into the church for Ovet’s viewing, a sense of calm washed over him. With the emotional turmoil he experienced in the previous weeks, it was a welcome relief. It felt peaceful.
He’d come to say his goodbyes.
Dent walked up to the casket.
He coached Ovet last year on the freshman football team. He’d seen the sparkle in Ovet’s eyes, and received Ovet’s “big old giant hugs.” He’d eaten leftover tamales for “three weeks” after a team dinner the Gomez Regalado family hosted, one that Ovet he talked about for a month in advance. He knew that Ovet didn’t have a mean bone in his body and that deep down, he was really just a fun-loving kid.
Dent knelt down at the casket.
“It’s not going to be the same,” he said while wiping away tears. “ never going to be all together like that.”
“He’s not coming back.”
Dent went home that night. He cried for two hours.
This scene is one many at Northwest have lived through over the past 13 months.
One year ago students gathered around a grave. Ten months ago someone’s son was taken from them. Five months ago, a mother sobbed in church.
Two weeks ago, a football coach grieved his former student.
“He was like my son.”
This is what it’s like to lose four students in 13 months.
August 26, 2024
Isaac Gregory looked down at the reading: 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18. He held onto both sides of the lectern. He gazed out at the somber congregation dressed in black.
As he spoke, the words came easy.
Gregory finished the reading and sat down, realizing that the closure he’d been searching for wouldn’t find him.
Today, he’s still processing Ovet’s death.
He has trouble sleeping. School no longer feels important. How can it? Every day he thinks about Ovet.
Hundreds of other students have felt this way: losing siblings, best friends, classmates and teammates.
“Since then it’s made me realize I didn’t care about enough or put in the effort that he does,” Gregory said. “I really regret that. It’s made me think a lot about how I need to treat everyone else better. I’ve been a lot more sensitive and emotional.”
He can’t change what’s happened, or cling to the past. Sooner or later he will have to face reality, but until then, for Gregory, Ovet is still on vacation somewhere or maybe just taking a nap.
Gregory is still trying to make it through each day, like many others.
Like Rollins, who tries to be as kind as Ovet. Like Jackson, who worries every time the intercom comes on. Like Herbst, who, after months, feels like the only way to honor Will’s life is to live out his own. Like Blackburn, who keeps a photo of Alex in her classroom. Like Dent, who feels as if he’s lost his son.
People who still can’t help but cry. People who search for answers.
“I don’t want to say goodbye,” Gregory said.
But life goes on.
