A quote from an email a colleague sent me today as a result of her visiting one of my classes during Open Classroom Week  (a week where faculty volunteer to open their classes to other faculty and staff to visit and also to visit other classrooms themselves).

“I was daydreaming in your class with how wonderful your students are and would be great educators by learning from people like you. I loved your sense of calm and your peaceful way of pointing out what has been done and what is to come in your class.”

Today I feel very proud.

The last time we were all together was last summer at the Cape in a rental house for a few more days than two. I always say I’ll take something over nothing; and yet I always wish for more.

As any mother I love my children very deeply. Since they have left home in the early to mid-90s, I’ve learned to accept my sadness at their daily absence from my life. And along with that sadness, comes the overwhelming pride at the adults they have become. I think of them often during a day, seeing and hearing something I know they would like to hear, a moment with their father, or a new food I’ve cooked and I think they’d like to try. But the missing is different. When they reappear in person, I must feel deeper. My excitement is palpable, and when they leave my sadness exhausting.

I sometimes wonder if my parents were this sad when I grew up. I don’t know. In their way, they loved me, but when I was kicked out and left at 18, it was really quite permanent. When I moved closer to them at different points, I visited as often as I could and enjoyed their company (and still do – my mother is 82 and on the opposite coast). But they did not ever parent me again. I have enjoyed the deep pleasure of continuing to be my children’s parent. Of course it isn’t the same as parenting that two year or eleven year old; yet they have left space for me in their lives. This, I think, is the joy and the sorrow.

Late tomorrow for two short days I get to be in the presence of some amazing people. I think I will be 25 again: I get to cook, clean up after them, play games, laugh and fill my heart with their presence. On Monday afternoon, I’ll be 54 again soon enough.