This week has been so long.
I think I’ve cried more this week than I have the last seven weeks combined.
Tears of joy. Tears of laughter. Tears of sorrow. Tears of pain.
I am grateful for my district. I am grateful for my principal and her thoughtfulness. I am grateful for my co-workers. I am grateful for our community. I am grateful for all the faces I was able to see this week while at school, and today, during the teacher parade. I am grateful for everyone who has helped with my crazy social media antics. I am just so grateful.
But yesterday was my daddy’s birthday. And I miss him.
As I stood over the sink last night, washing dishes in water too hot, I thought about how he would be handling this. How he would be encouraging me. How he’d laugh at Sutton’s mini-me personality. How he’d know what to do with Gabe. How he would volunteer to keep the kids. How we probably wouldn’t even be able to see him, because he’d be high risk. How we may not even live here at all.
And I gave myself a few minutes to cry. To mourn for him. To miss him more than I do every second of every day–because in that moment, I needed it. But Gabe yelled “mommy,” and the moment passed.
So today, when I was tagged in this, the tears flowed for a different reason.
I miss my students.
I miss the routine we had.
I miss the everyday normalcy.
I miss the quiet of my conference period…even when I had to hide to get anything done.
I miss my morning chats with Anna while I raided her room for the good ice.
I miss my mentees and our weekly meetings.
I miss lunch conversations and hallway snarkiness with my co-workers.
I miss greeting my kids at the door…sometimes with sarcasm, but always with love.
I miss shouting down the hall “Happy Monday!” or “Good morning!” or whatever.
I miss Monday check-ins…I hate not knowing how they are doing.
I miss telling them to be safe and make good choices when they walk out my door.
I miss running out of the house and pulling into the parking lot at 7:49.
I miss school. Every last second.
I will not see some of these faces again. They will graduate and move on. Some are done with photography, and I won’t get to see them in my class again. You see, as an elective teacher, I have the privilege to have students more than one year if they choose to continue in the program. These kids here? This is their second year with me. And knowing that’s it for some of them breaks my heart.
At least once a year, I think about leaving the teaching profession. I wonder if it’s right for me. If I’m giving my all. I wonder if I’m doing enough. If there’s someone who could serve them better. I wonder if I’m giving too much. If I need to focus on me and my family. I wonder if I chose the wrong profession.
And every year, I stay. God shows up and shows out. He reminds me why I’m here, why I was born to be a teacher. There’s a reason I didn’t go on to get my MFA and leave the state. There’s a reason I didn’t go to law school. There’s a reason I am a teacher.
There’s been at least 1000 “reasons” walk in and out of my classroom in the last eleven years, and I can’t think of a single one that would keep me away.
Diary of a Girl from Nowhere 
Excellent
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Thanks, brother!
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