The Worst Goodbye

I knew it would be hard. I said it would be hard. But, it wasn’t hard. It was excruciating.

Leaving the kids’ school for the last time was gut-wrenching, and I’m not even exactly sure why.

I know I’m terrible at goodbyes. I hate watching people I love walk out of my life. But, I’ve said goodbye to plenty of people I love. I’ve left places I love. I’ve known I was closing chapters in my life before, but nothing compares to this goodbye.

I was completely unprepared for how it hurt me.

That last day, I watched from the booth on the other side of the one-way mirror for the last time, knowing that I might never again observe my kids in such a way. There is something amazing about witnessing your kids as they are when you aren’t visible, when they are standing on their own two feet without your presence to guide them.

That last day, I collected their art projects and extra changes of clothes.

I teared up as I individually thanked every, single person I saw, because they all are part of my children’s successes.

Their faces were sad too, because J had been at the school for longer than probably any other child. The age limit increased at exactly the time he would have aged out, so instead of getting nearly two years there, he had three.

I could see how much J meant to all of his teachers. That child isn’t the most exuberant one or the funniest or the silliest. But, he is solid and reliable and thoughtful and kind. His loyalty is rewarded by a small circle of people who love him fiercely. And maybe that’s what hurt so much about leaving. I was prepared for saying goodbye to people whom I respect, people who devote their lives to the service of helping children. I knew that leaving a place where we were all so comfortable would sting. But, we were leaving people who knew my children better than most. The purpose of coming home was to change that, to give my kids a chance to grow up around family and dear friends. But, in their early years, the dearest friends my children knew were their therapists and teachers.

Every teacher who said goodbye to J had tears in her eyes. They rubbed his head for the last time and patted his back and sent him off into the world a boy instead of a baby.

One of J’s teachers even walked us out into the parking lot, as if she couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye. She watched us walk away. I was so touched, but I stitched my face into a smile for the kids as I buckled them into their carseats. I managed a cheerful “Say goodbye to your school!” as we drove away.

And then I silently cried all the way home.

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