Loss

​I'm a teacher.
I teach 
Grade 7.
These kids are
amazing.
They're a bunch of hopeful,
funny, and
spunky
preteens and teenagers
who are raring 
to get to high school
but are the teeniest bit scared to 
leave behind 
everything
and everyone
they know
in this place called
elementary school.

The final term
with every class I've had
​is usually
the best one.
It's a frantic term,
like they all are,
but this one
is loaded with fun,
focused on community,
and filled with love.
It's a time when we all
really and truly
know each other.
We laugh
together.
We play tricks 
on each other.
When we gather for a
conversation, 
we listen,
truly listen, 
to each other. 
We get to take in 
incredible experiences
that only draw us
even closer together.
Field trips.
Camp.
Waterslides.
We are a team.

And now, it feels like
all of that is gone.
It's been
stripped away 
from us.
By something
no one has 
​any control over.

I'm sad.
This is my first time
teaching Grade 7.
My first time to teach kids
that I won't see
walking the halls
for years
​after they've
left my class.
The first time I really
have to say
goodbye.
And it's the first time
they -
these hopeful and
funny and
spunky kids -
really have to say 
goodbye, too.
And we won't even
get to do it
properly.