It’s with a heavy heart that we share the news that Gage Eddy, a vibrant and deeply cherished student, has passed away. At just the age when the world is full of promise and possibility, Gage—who was enrolled in the Auto Collision Repair & Refinishing program at Washington County Career Center—left behind a gap no one can fill. His passions, his smile, his kindness—they were the threads that wove warmth into our daily school life.
Gage wasn’t just someone who showed up to class. He came with purpose. Teachers speak of his dedication to mastering the finer points of collision repair, his hands always steady, his questions sincere. Classmates remember how he leaned in when someone struggled, offering encouragement rather than judgment. He carried that same intentness into every circle he joined—he wasn’t one to fade into the background.
What struck everyone was how effortlessly Gage made others feel seen. His laughter could lighten the air. His compassion was quiet but unmistakable—he’d ask how your day was, really listen, pause, and care. Those small moments, the ones you might not notice at first, turned out to mean the most. In the halls, in the shop, in quiet corners, he left traces of himself—gentleness, patience, integrity.
Frontier Local Schools says his passing leaves a deep ache. He wasn’t just part of the student body; he was part of the soul of our community. Staff, teachers, classmates—many speak of a void now standing where Gage’s presence once stood. The corridors feel a little dimmer without that easy grin or that ready nod of support.
In this time of sorrow, the school is doing what it can to stand beside every person hurting. Counselors from Hopewell Health will be on hand in the coming days to meet with students, teachers, staff—anyone who needs someone to hold space, to talk, to just breathe and be. Grief is messy, personal; no one should have to walk it alone.
To Gage’s family, to his friends, to his teachers who poured into him—there are no words that can fix what’s broken. But here’s what we carry forward: a promise to remember him, to honor his spirit in the way we treat each other. When kindness is needed, we’ll draw on his quiet example. When a moment of doubt creeps in, we’ll think of how Gage approached even small tasks with care.
Though Gage is gone, his memory remains—etched in classrooms, in shared laughter, in the small, tender gestures he left behind. His life, brief but meaningful, stands as a reminder: it’s not just what we do, but how we do it—with heart, with soul, with connection. We’ll miss you, Gage. You won’t be forgotten.
