What's Next? A letter to my students as I contemplate retirement.
My dearest students, Friday 10/23/26
Two days ago my husband said to me, “create as many joyful moments as you can, because once you’re done teaching, you’ll never get to do that with students in your own classroom ever again.”
This phrase made me both happy and sad at the same time. Happy, because I have had such memorable moments in my classrooms with my students. We have laughed, cried and learned together. And over the years, I stayed in touch with so many: visiting them in Chicago, Charleston, in their new homes, or off-the-beaten path coffee shops and pubs; I have attended their weddings, actually performed some of their weddings!, held their babies, bought their products, had them fix things in my home, and had their parents take care of my eyes and my teeth as my physicians. Building community has always been everything to me.
When I was growing up, my alcoholic grandfather wreaked havoc on our family. He hurt my grandma. When she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s at only 63, (I was 11) I didn’t anticipate her being in a nursing home for so long. She died after 5 years, the day before my 17th birthday—the first day of my senior year. I loved her. My mom loved her, but my own mother was never able to create the same loving, family-vibe my grandmother created for us. So, I made that my goal in my life. To make others feel loved. To feel welcomed. To invite them in. To hold on. Saying goodbye is so hard for me because of all this.
Ed is going to be 60 this school year. Three years younger than when my grandmother’s diagnosis changed our family forever. I can’t stop wondering what is next for us. I can’t stop wondering if taking care of other people’s kids has taken too much precedence over taking care of my own family over the years. I can’t stop wondering about the day when I will no longer walk into my classroom to meet another group of students who will continue to change my life, by entering my life. How long will they stay with me? How will we continue to learn and grow with and because of each other?
Those are the reasons some of the sadness creeps into the happiness when I think about ending my teaching career. I am learning this last quarter a lot about what I want and what I need. What I can continue to create and what I have to let go of. And who will be near me when the door to 2227 closes and ceases to be mine. There will be no more web. No more onion. No more Pigasus. I have to be proud of myself for creating those lasting paradigms in my classroom culture. And I have to be satisfied at doing my best to make those lessons and more applicable to life outside of the classroom.
Saying goodbye to all this is not something I take lightly. At 33 years in teaching, maybe it is time for me to find parts of myself that remain underdeveloped. Could I write a book? Start a non-profit organization? Learn how to make my dad’s wine? Run for public office? Do educational consulting? All of those? (😣) Maybe sleep in and stop wanting to create something? (?? I doubt that last one would be possible…)
I just completed the last of over a dozen letters of recommendation for colleges—kids I am helping to launch into the next part of their life. I wrote about them in theatre, English class, art competitions, the speech team… I wonder what my "launch letter” would look like? What good am I still capable of creating for us in our world—right here in Berlin Township or…elsewhere. What talents can I offer to make this a better, more joyful and accessible place for the humans around me? I know my learning and growth will continue—this world and its people are so fascinating to me, how can I not continue to be curious about how to engage with it all?
Well, there’s a list of more unanswered questions than I’d like—but all good ones. I’m gonna get up do something about answering them right now…
In hope,
💙Repko