A few days back, I wrote about how loneliness had been affecting me. Little did I know that shortly after that, I would hear the heartbreaking news that one of my students had taken his own life. I felt like somebody had punched me in the face.
I knew he was battling his own demons, but what struck me most was how much potential he had. He was an incredible writer—he poured his feelings onto the page with honesty and depth. He dreamed of becoming a novelist one day. We would often sit together over coffee, brainstorming ideas, developing characters, and exploring the worlds he created in his mind.
When I heard about his death, I was shocked. It didn’t feel distant—it felt deeply personal. I had taught him, yes, but I had also taught his children. This loss ripples beyond just one life.
There are many silent battles here in the reserves. The weight of intergenerational trauma, the grip of addiction, the ways people try to numb the pain—these are real and haunting. I believe Corey was carrying more than most could bear. Perhaps he reached a point when the darkness enveloped him, and he chose an escape from it all.
No words feel right. No tribute seems enough. But I wanted to write something for him.
May his soul rest in peace. And may the words we once shared find their way into the world, just as he had always hoped. The following is the obituary I wrote for him:
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In Loving Memory of Corey Moose
Beloved father, student, storyteller, and friend
It is with deep sadness and heavy hearts that we share the passing of Corey Moose, a cherished member of our learning community and a dear friend to many. Corey was more than a student; he was a storyteller, a thinker, a dreamer—and someone who brought light into the lives of those around him, even while navigating his own shadows.
Corey was a student of KiHS Poplar Hill, dedicated and full of quiet strength. A potential graduate, he had been working toward his goals with determination and hope. We spent many hours together, sharing stories and reflections over countless cups of coffee. In those moments, I came to know the depth of Corey’s soul—his compassion, his humour, and his unflinching honesty.
Though he fought his demons, Corey never lost his ability to smile. He had a way of making others feel seen and heard, often offering his story as a gift of connection. He was working on a novel—his great dream—and would often joke about his epic battle with writer’s block. Still, he pressed on, always seeking feedback, always trying to find the right words. I was honoured that he trusted me with his words and sought my advice.
Corey was also a father, and I had the privilege of teaching his children. Like their father, they are brilliant, kind, and resilient. His love for them was endless, and he spoke of them with great pride.
His passing is a profound loss for all who knew him. But even in this grief, we hold onto the memories of his laughter, his determination, his warmth, and his presence. He was a good man. He mattered. And he will be missed more than words can say.
May Corey’s soul rest in peace, and may his spirit continue to inspire those he loved and those who loved him.
Thinking Out Loud 