Scott Freeman

What I Hate Most About Leaving Waco

I’m not by nature a nostalgic person. I don’t spend a whole lot of time looking backwards. In addition, I don’t always deal that well with transition. I spend so much time looking ahead that I often fail to pay attention to where I am at the moment.

So, I don’t have a lot of qualms or misgivings about moving despite the fact that the move is not without a great deal of pain and disappointment.

However, there is one aspect of moving that really has bothered me and I never saw it coming or expected to feel something so undefinable to me.

Last week, Tracy and I went to a parent/teacher conference with Chloe’s first grade teacher. Chloe loves school and it’s already apparent to us that she will excel in the classroom. So, it was a joy to go and hear about how well she is doing.

As we sat in the little chairs and talked to the teacher about Chloe’s progress I was able to look over and see her desk and how she has everything arranged according to her specifications and preferences. And that is when I began to really feel a tremendous sadness that we have to move her.

I’m not necessarily sad that she has to begin at a new school. She makes friends quickly and everyone seems to genuinely like her. That’s not the problem.

It’s not the fact that she has to begin anew studying different things and get up to speed with another classroom. That’s not it, either.

What bothers me, and what I have a hard time putting into words, is the fact that life will go on without her. That, to others, she will be replaceable.
There will be sadness that she is gone. Her classmates will be able to look over and see her empty desk where once she smiled and laughed and learned.
They will miss her.
But eventually someone else will take her seat. Or the desk will be removed.
However it happens life will go on without her.

And that bothers me. Greatly. She is invaluable. Irreplaceable.
But not to everyone.

Does this make sense to anyone else but me. Or am I just overly morbid?