Letting Go

Written in my journal last night.

We have two days of school left. After that, our school gets shut down for good, and the kids will be farmed out to schools all over the city. I haven't been thinking about it-- haven't been letting myself dwell on the thought of never seeing these very special kids again. But on my way to school today, I started thinking about Mark and Joshua Larin-- two boys whose mother is terminally ill and has only been given until December to live. I've never heard any mention of the father; as far as I know, their mom is all they've got. Mark is one of our 10th graders, and is SO bright and perceptive, even though he never turns anything in. Anytime I DO get a bit of his writing, I'm always floored-- especially by the philosophy he brings up, he's such a DEEP thinker. And Joshua, his little brother, is an eighth grader that I got to know in swing class earlier this year. He's young but was already a great dance lead. He's grown at least four inches since then. I worry about him especially-- he has such a hungry, desperate look in his eyes and is prone to fighting people, or acting up in class-- he's just angry. He's such a sweetheart though too, and can be very clever and funny-- he reminds me of my little brother in that way, especially because of his dishwater-blond hair. I look at him, and I see him aching. I just can't imagine these boys trying to deal with their mother dying.

Earlier this year, for a swing performance, Joshua borrowed this black fedora of mine. I never wear it-- it's too big for my head-- but it's a really nice hat, and it looked great on him. He wore it even after the performance, as long as I let him. I think I want to just give it to him-- it's not good to hug the kids, even though I sometimes wish I could-- so this is my best substitute to let him know I CARE.

Anyway, thinking about Mark and Joshua on my way to school got me crying, and then I thought with such despair, "I'm not going to know how ANY of them are. I won't know how Ashley's doing with her crazy mom, I won't know if Eduardo or Miguel or George ever graduate, I wont' get to see how Natalie's poetry keeps improving or know if she decides to go to college after all... I won't be able to check up on them!"

I asked Viola (mentor) and Jane (the theatre teacher)-- if they thought it would be all right to allow the kids to be my "Myspace" friends after school ended.

"NO," Jane said adamantly. "Never. You don't what could happen there, someone could post something inappropriate on your wall and then that goes out to the world-- that could really get you into trouble, through no fault of your own. You CAN'T be the kids' friend. It's part of the gig."

I started to weakly say that the Myspace was just a music Myspace, that it wasn't personal at all-- and Viola interrupted me.

"You just have to let them go, Greta. You have to let them go."

I guess, in a way, it's a comfort to believe in a bigger God to surrender them to. But... this is terrible to write, because it's pretty blasphemous-- so many of the kids seem looked over by Him. SO many of them have TERRIBLE lives. Like Mark read from his poem that he read for the poetry slam, "WTF, God? Where ARE you?"

... But then God says, "I got them to you, didn't I? I asked YOU to show them love, and hope, and kindness all year, didn't I? I've got more people ahead for these kids."

I have to let them go. I MUST surrender them, and let them go.

Viola said, "The ones that are really determined to find you will find you. They will. And that's really the way it should be."

I just haven't gotten practiced at this part yet. I've had lots of practice with lesson plans, and classroom management, and establishing good teacher/student rapport, but this is my first End of The Year goodbye... And because the school's closing, I won't be able to come back and visit these kids. And these are SPECIAL kids to me! These are the students that taught me how to teach!

It's so hard. Hard to GIVE them up. Hard to say goodbye.

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Today, Joshua came by our classroom after school, and I gave him the fedora. He was with three girl friends, so I couldn't say anything about his mom, or about HOPING for him, but I said, "I just remember you looking so nice in this, and I thought you should have it!"

He thanked me, and put the hat right on, and then paused. "I'm really not looking forward to not being at this school next year. I don't want to think about it."

I thought of the massive instability in Joshua and Mark's life, and considered that their SCHOOL-- this small community of students and teachers who all knew them, who all knew about them-- was perhaps one of the only stable things in their lives. Yet now this was ending too.

"I know," I said. "It makes me really sad too."

I wish I could have given him a hug.

On Mark's final-- which he TURNED IN, one of the only pieces of writing I've seen from him all year, and I watched him toil over it for three hours, coming back to our class during his elective period to finish it up-- I wrote:

"Mark, this is the only 100% I've given. This is well written, well argued, and shows tremendous skill. Once again, I am reminded of how capable you are.

"Know that you will always have someone believing in you. I know this hasn't been an easy year, and I'm so sorry for that. I'll continue to pray for you and your fam. Know though that there are many people who are PROUD of you.

"Best of luck Mark; it's been a privilege. --Greta."

We have one more day of school.

It's hard to let them go.