keeping it together...sort of

It's all over but the crying, folks.

8th and 12th Grade graduation was Thursday evening. I was on the committee to plan it (It seems we have committees for everything in Nigeria!) and emceed the event, too. We graduated our own Grade 12 for the first time in ICS history. In the past, it's been correspondence diplomas with University of Nebraska Lincoln.

According to the family-oriented priorities of the school, parents were involved in the diploma ceremony. Each family was called to the stage as their child accepted their diploma. When you only have 16 graduates, you can afford to take the time!

I was full of pride in these students, though part of me didn't feel I had the right. I've been with these kids for the past 10 months. Some of the teachers present had literally watched them grow up--one teacher said the 8th grade grads had been in her preschool class! I don't have that kind of history with these kids, but I'd like to think I've made a difference in some small way.

Following the ceremony, we took pictures and I started the goodbyes. I teach a pair of sisters, one in grades 6 & 8, and they left graduation to go to the airport on their way home for the summer. I said goodbye to the younger one, and she absolutely broke down. It was crushing, to be honest. There were several other goodbyes like that one.

(It occurs to me that I'm having trouble finding words to express these emotions associated with leaving and saying goodbye. I apologize for my imprecise attempts.)

Friday morning, we had an awards ceremony followed by class parties, and closed by 11am. The whole morning was an out-of-body experience. It felt like one of those suspenseful movies scenes where time is running out and you can't make it last long enough. Actually, that's what it literally was: not enough time. Never enough time.

I walked around to each of my classes and told them how much I loved being their teacher and how much I'll miss them. I hugged almost everyone except for a few shy ones and said goodbye. I did the same thing with my little ones in Grade 2. Anne wouldn't let go. She wouldn't let go, you guys. I died a little inside.

Lastly, I said goodbye to my own Grade 11, which was hardest. They are such amazing kids and they're going to be such amazing adults. Those 4 meant the difference between a terrific and miserable first few weeks of teaching. I will forever be grateful to them for making my job so easy. I pray (and pray and pray) that in one year, I'm able to come back for their own graduation. I can't wait to see where they go next in life--they'll probably change the world!

After all the goodbyes, I left with another teacher to spend the afternoon with some of the women from school. I started crying as we pulled away from the school, knowing it was the last time I would see it alive with students. Then I went to a henna party with the others. It was a busy afternoon and full of conversation and things to keep my mind off the sadness.

In hindsight, I didn't plan the afternoon well. I didn't anticipate my overemotional state. I should have planned to stay at the school as late as necessary, given myself time to cry it out, and then gone to hang out with my friends after collecting myself.

It's not like me to suppress emotions; for one thing, I'm bad at it, and for another, I don't think it's very healthy. I like to feel what I'm feeling - good, bad, or in between. So, I guess if I had to do it over again, I'd do it differently. The activity of the afternoon kept my mind off it, which was beneficial in its own way. Plus I've got some killer henna on my hands and feet...pictures soon.

I'm steeling myself for a total breakdown in the airport next week. I apologize in advance to the people who drop me off, the students on my flight (there will be a couple), and the unlucky passenger sitting next to me in 32 J.