It's Time to say Goodbye

Separation is hard.  Whatever your age it’s never easy to say goodbye, especially if the chances of seeing that person again are slim. Sometimes we avoid facing up to that with promises to stay in touch and visit regularly, but we’re often more than aware that it’s all a front.



But when you have to say goodbye to a class who you know you’re not going to see again you do have to be honest. False assurances that you will see them again do not help little ones to live with the situation - it’s better that they know where they stand from the start. Take my own example as a case study: I was distraught when my first headmaster left my primary school at the end of my Reception year. He was nothing less than a legend for the whole school, and even at the tender age of five it was strange to imagine the place without him. When he came back to visit the following summer I was delighted to see him, and clung onto his parting words in faith - ‘I’ll come and visit again when Tony grows into his shorts.’ We all had a giggle at Tony’s Hawaiian pair which were hanging down practically to his ankles, but I think maybe I was the only person who took his promise literally. A year later Tony come in wearing those same shorts, only this time his waist filled them and they stopped at his knees. ‘Yay!’ I thought. ‘That means Mr D will come and visit again today!’ He didn’t. I waited all summer, but he never came back. In fact I haven’t seen Mr D since, and I’m pretty confident that Tony has even outgrown his shorts by now.

So when I had to finish a long term placement in the Nursery I wanted to be honest with the children. I wanted them to understand that I was going for good, and I didn’t want to leave any illusions. Especially for those children who had (or at least I felt had) formed a particularly strong connection to me. One of those children was Davey.

A good opportunity for a frank conversation presented itself when he came and sat next to me to do his drawing. He concentrated greatly, chatting away about his artwork and explaining what all the wiggly lines meant. Then, when the time seemed appropriate, I asked him if he realised that I was leaving and wouldn’t be coming to Nursery anymore. He fell silent and drew for a little bit longer as I wallowed in my feelings of guilt, before he looked up, fixed his gaze right on mine, and said, ‘how do you sleep at night?’ My guilt tripled. I smiled at him in an attempt to soften his glare and apologised profusely for the situation, explained that I wish I didn’t have to go and that although I wouldn’t be back I wouldn’t forget him and would think of him regularly. His frown deepened as I ended my spiel and a shiver of dread tickled my spine when he opened his mouth to reply. ‘Well,’ he started. ‘Have you got a television in your room? Because I think you might seep better if you turn it off, televisions keep you awake.’ And then he went back to his artwork.

I took Davey’s advice. My TV is now perched up on my kitchen counter and my bedroom remains a screen-free sanctuary. And that, so I believe, is one of the top tips for ensuring a good night’s sleep. Davey was certainly onto something.