School is approaching. A new school year. Looming chaos. And for the first time since 1981 I won’t be participating as a teacher. I have retired. I knew all the crying and goodbye-ing at the end of last school year was not the worst of it. The worst is now. No classroom to prepare. No new names to learn. No endless hours of in-service training where principals and experts blah-blah-blah endlessly. (Okay, I don’t miss everything.) But I am not dead, merely retired. I should not have to feel so bad and left out. Still, I linger in bed in the mornings, and I really don’t feel blessed by being retired. I know many, many teachers who live for the day when they can retire. They count the hours. Not me. I had to retire because of poor health and money woes. But I taught long enough to get a full pension, and should not have to worry for whatever years I have left. But it makes me sad not to be there. I miss it. And life will never be the same.
Catch a Falling Star 