Saying goodbye
A few years ago, the children at school were writing about their memories and time in school as they approached a leavers’ event for parents. One of them wrote the following as part of their reflection:
Saying ‘hello’ was so simple. Who knew saying ‘goodbye’ would be so complicated?
Every year, my time with a class begins with the equivalent of a “hello.” After seventeen years of teaching, I’m fairly well-drilled with setting my expectations and it tends to be fairly straightforward. As time passes, each year a tapestry of shared memories and experiences forms between class and teacher. The highs and lows are encountered together – the competitions won, the mistake made with subsequent consequences, the tests passed, the friendship fall-out to negotiate, the opportunities to share successes with parents. It can run deeper too. Dynamics evolve, mutual trust is extended and bonds are forged.
For some children, leaving primary school barely seems to affect them. For others, their “goodbye” is a complex and upsetting time of change, where routines they have followed as long as they can remember are uprooted and they have to deal with the emotions of friendship groups being split and re-formed. As for me, the beginning of the summer holidays tends to trigger feelings of tiredness and relief but tinged with a sense loss. The class who I have taught, looked after, taken on trips, built relationships with, have gone. That time is over and won’t be the same again. My rational self-narrative may tell me that I wouldn’t want it to stay the same – the children are ready to move onto secondary school and it’s part of my role to prepare them for that jump. This knowledge, however, doesn’t quash the distinctive sense of emptiness I often experience following that last day of the school year.
There’s a sense of grief that can accompany change because change can often be viewed as a kind of loss. When I finish teaching classes that are full of character, humour and positive work ethics, I miss them. The low-level ‘grieving’ that often follows can help me to reflect on those positive experiences and to be grateful for the times I have had. It can help me focus more on the goodness and joy in life that is around me so consistently and can increase my awareness of it.
The sense of loss at the end of the academic year doesn’t last forever. But it’s present and I think it is healthy to recognise it. The cycle of teaching means that this is a yearly event for me and one I try to lean into more. It also makes me ponder other cycles in life where these smaller losses can be recognised – finishing a job, ending a holiday, a friend moving away or deciding to finish your time at a club.
This annual experience in school reminds me of the passage from the Old Testament that says, “For everything, there is a season, and a time for every matter under the sun; a time to be born, and a time to die.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-2) Thinking of seasons reminds me (ironically in July) that the winters, the quieter, more melancholy periods in life, are important in the process growth. During winter, instead of extending energy in attempts to grow, plants prepare for dormancy. If they fail to do so, water stored in their leaves and stems would freeze, causing harm to them. Often though, these will be times where roots are deepened or widened, even though there may be no signs of growth above ground level. This can happen on our faith journeys too. Perhaps it may be characterised in God appearing more distant or when what used to work with connecting us to the divine no longer seems effective.
For me there is a regular pattern of change that links to the school year. Perhaps we can recognise those patterns in our lives where familiar emotional responses occur and consider what they have to teach us. And during those times where it is tough and potentially a ‘winter’ for our soul, where signs of growth are absent, we can take some comfort in knowing it can be a time of strengthening of our roots and that season will, one day, come to an end.
