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She was a spitfire.

From the first moment she walked into my classroom at Lutheran High Northeast, I knew Janelle would be one of those students: the ones you forge a bond with and see the potential for infinite growth.

It didn’t hurt that she was a younger sister to one of Courtney’s best friends and I knew the type of person she was and wanted to be.

With Janelle, there was no illusion or pretense. She was simply Janelle, a confident young woman, comfortable in her own skin. She loved Jesus and wasn’t afraid to use Bible verses to make a point.

She would make a point, often, especially if you shortened her name to Nelley, which some classmates would do to tease her.

Once, when we were joking around during speech practice, trying to fine-tune details of a character in her piece, I called her Janelley. “I don’t like it,” she told me, a slight smile curling the edge of her lip, “but it’s better than plain old Nelley.”

After I quit teaching and coaching at LHNE, we stayed in touch, primarily through social media. Eventually, she married and had a beautiful little girl. The marriage ended and, for a while, she didn’t maintain much of an online presence. Smart girl, that Janelle.

When she made her return, she seemed in good spirits, commented on foodie posts and liked pictures of our grandkids. Four months ago, she gave birth to a son.

To borrow a quote, “You were unsure which pain is worse - the shock of what happened or the ache for what never will.”

That’s how I felt Sunday evening after learning she and her family died Saturday, in a house fire, in Columbus.

I cannot imagine losing a child in a tragic accident, or adding two grandchildren to the mix. And, for a while Sunday evening, it seemed like the world tilted a little, spun in a different, bumpy orbit while I sorted through emotions. I spent part of the evening speaking with other former students who were still reeling at the news.

As details emerge about the accident, I’m struggling with the pain of acceptance.

Here’s what is known: An ember from a wood-burning fireplace ignited combustible materials nearby in the living room. According to the State Fire Marshal’s office, smoke detectors were in the house, but the batteries were not connected. Smoke inhalation has been determined as cause of death.

Something like this catches you off guard. You ache for the loss, you hurt not knowing what those two young children would have achieved. You feel empathy and sympathy for the families. You wonder why them, why now, questions which, undoubtedly, will remain unanswered.

Hug those you love a little tighter, hold them a little longer. You never know what direction life may take, so tell the people who matter, “I love you” more often.

Rest gently, Janelly, with your beautiful family.