elucreh | (no subject)

Tonight I'm supposed to be writing my letters of leaving for my preschool job: requests for recommendations from a few select parents, my official resignation for my director, my thank-you letter to the general population of parents and kids...

but I'm sad. I'm sad and I'm tired and I love those children dearly and I. Don't. Wanna.

As much as I've whined and ranted and resented this job, as much as my coworkers have been incompetent or my management frustrating or the curriculum horrendously laughably bad, this is the end of a period of my life that will always be important to me. It's the time when I figured out what I want to do with my life; the time when I figured out the cause of my depression; the time when I learned about my flaws and my strengths. I've done a lot of living and a lot of loving in that building, with all those kids around me, and just--I'm going to miss them so, so much.

One little girl I've been caring for almost four years--she was six months old when I started. I've seen her learn to walk and talk, coached and coaxed her through her divorce tantrums, taught her to write her name and help others climb the ladder to the slide. She's bright and quick and lovely, and I'm a part of that--I helped to build the person she is, the person she's going to be. And she won't remember me at all--she's only four years old! Right now she runs to hug me and it's me she cries for when she falls and it's me they send her to when she can't be handled--but in another six months I'll pass her in the street and she won't even know me.

Her mother is one of the parents who've agreed to write me a formal recommendation, and I just...I can't make myself talk about how much I love that kid and how much I'm going to miss her. Not in the formal, bullshitting way I write my official letters.

All I really want to do is hold her close and cry.

It's sad, y'all, and I need time to wallow before I go all bright and cheery to say goodbye.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

:'(

Want a fudgsicle? I bought the BIG box - It's a wallowing kind of week.

For what it's worth, I do remember Liz, the woman who took care of me when I was very small. I remember her at the preschool (co-op?) when I was three, and I remember her at my parents' house when, later, she came there to take care of me, my brother, and a couple other kids of friends. She went elsewhere when I was still four, and then there was another arrangement until kindergarten.

This was the early seventies, and I remember her in the big beanbag at the daycare, in big bright striped shirts that my modern fashion sense (heh, not) says are dreadful, reading to me because I didn't nap--I was Something Of A Trial to the daycare because of this, though of course I didn't know that then.

So, you know, she might remember you more than you think. She might remember you when she's thirty and helps her own child climb up onto the slide at the park. Maybe not very well, but there's something to be said for being part of those very old memories that you can't call up on purpose, but that show up in your head in certain moments.

Oh honey. *hugs* I know, I know, it's hard. Mini-D is the same age and she's adorable too.

But I remember things from when I was four. Not in any great detail, but I do remember the things that left an impact. I think she will remember you too.

I'm so sorry, hon. I know you love those kids. Even the ones that don't remember you, you'll have left a good impact on, I am sure.

Thinking of you. :)

Aw, hun. *hugs* I remember my preschool teacher. And don't think of this as a final good-bye to everyone. When you visit home for breaks, there's always the possibility of babysitting. I'm sure there are some parents that will want to keep in touch with you. You've touched their lives, so you will be remembered.

Remember Christian the lion, after all.

you are so precious!

*hugs*

it is sad. it's hard to move on.

I can so very much see why you're sad. I'm sorry, honey.

All I really want to do is hold her close and cry.

You just made me cry.

*hugs*

*hugstight*