Most academics go through the whole of their working lives without ever having to deal with the death of a student.  But in an institution of around 24000 students, although most of them are young adults it is inevitable that there will be occasional deaths - from cancer, car accidents or other causes.  Since I became PVC I have been involved in trying to co-ordinate our response to such events in a way that is most appropriate to the wishes of the families concerned. For parents to witness the death of their offspring is a singularly untimely experience, and I am keen that as a caring institution we should play a constructive role in remembering the loss of one of our community as well as their family.

Parents and partners sometimes think that the most appropriate action on our part would be to allow themto cross the stage at a graduation ceremony to receive some sort of public recognition of the achievements of their loved one. My experience of this is almost entirely negative.  As an example, the last time this happened in my presence the partner of the student (who had been murdered in a random street killing by a schizophrenic who was not taking his medication) was in a state of considerable distress by the time she came onto the stage, nearly broke down in the arms of the presiding officer, and was helped back to her seat where her sobs disturbed those around her. The whole atmosphere of the ceremony had been altered for all those present.  This is not an isolated example.  Because of these examples we have now put a stop to parents or others collecting certificates at general degere ceremonies - both for their own good and for the inteersts of the other 1000 or so people in the hall.

What we now offer bereaved parents and others is a small personal event, generally held in one of the University's nicer rooms such as the Tapestry Room or the Chancellors Room, where what is said and done can be very much more tailored to the wishes of those present than in a big degree ceremony.  The family can bring more people along. Those who have taught the student and who knew him or her well can be present and can talk to the family. We can make the event more or less formal, as the family wishes.  Refreshments can be served if desired.  The feedback we have received after these events has been uniformally extremely positive.  I remember one event for a student who had collapsed and died in May of his final year from an undiagnosed heart condition.  A small event in the Chancellors Room that I felt would last at most 20 minutes turned into an extended celebration of the life of the student, with the father speaking about his son's enthusiasm for his final project work (which he had handed in shortly before collapsing) and with academic and administrative staff from his department sharing reminiscences with the family.  We were there for over an hour, and afterwards received a letter, via a family friend, to say that what we had done had really brought comfort to the grieving parents.

These can inevitably be rather tear-jerking events. Those of us who play a particular role in them have to try to blend professionalism with natural sympathy. But the most emotional occasions are those where we are celebrating, prematurely, the achievements of a student who is terminally ill.  On occasion we allow this to happen via attendance at a degree ceremony if the timing is appropriate. I don't know how many people at one of last year's degree ceremonies noticed that the last student to cross the stage, and to have quite a long conversation with the presiding officer, was actually a second year student with complex cancers who was not expected to be able to complete her full degree programme.

But the most remarkable event I have ever been involved in, and one where the tears flowed amongst almost all of the 50 or so people present, was for a terminally ill medical student.  We held the event in the Tapestry Room and she had invited a large number of old school friends and fellow students.  At her request we gowned up and formed a procession of staff who had taught her.  It had been agreed that in presenting the student with a record of her achievements I would make a short speech - which I found very difficult to do but somehow got through it.  When I had finished the student herself, to my amazement, asked if she could say a few words.  And she then gave us a very polished speech with advice to the medics on how to provide dignity to a young woman, like herself, with terminal cancer, and with thanks to the university for her life here in Sheffield.  It was an astonishing performance.  What her family now have to remember the occasion by is a wonderful album of photographs, taken by the university photographer, including pictures of all those who were present.

I am rather proud of what we do to mark the deaths of students.  We do it quietly, but appropriately.  It's not something that will ever be celebrated in key performance indicators or other metrics, but it is an example of the unviersity community at work.  Readers will have guessed that these reflections have been occasioned by a recent death.