Today came the announcement that I was dreading, but expected nonetheless. Our governor suspended in-person learning in our schools for the remainder of the 2019-2020 school year. I sat with that for a bit.
I will not see my current class in our classroom again.
We will not have another quick write together.
They won’t get to have the fundraising run we had been planning for May.
We won’t get to wrap up the year together with a celebration on the last day while we stand in an empty room and I give each one of them one last tearful hug.
My heart is a bit broken.
I had asked each class on Wednesday in our weekly Zoom calls how many of them thought we would go back to school this year. Not one. Kids said they hoped we would, but realistically didnd’t think so.
Either did I.
So, it came as a surprise to me that this hit me so hard. I knew it was coming. Heck, I’m grateful for it. If one kid in our district got terribly ill with this virus because we resumed school too early, I would feel horrible. I hate staying home and not teaching, but I will gladly do it to help our healthcare workers and protect our community.
It still stinks.
This afternoon I went to my school. I drew my map for my custodian of where everything goes and I closed up my room. I stood there, before I left, and took it all in. April 17th, over a month before the end of the school year, and my room is done. I hate this.
Then I walked in my house and sat down to have some lunch. Glancing down at my phone I saw lots of notifications - emails, videos, Padlet poems - from my students. I began replying, got into several conversations, and my heart lightened. Our classroom is closed, but we are still together, still learning. They are still taking my breath away by some of the poems they are writing. I’m still in awe of them on a regular basis.
Doesn’t mean that this sight didn’t hurt just a bit.
