In two days I leave my husband and three sons for a travel adventure with my students the likes of which I can only currently imagine.
Greece. The birthplace of, well, pretty much everything. A place I’ve been drawn to for a very long time.
But leaving is hard. Very, very hard. And it’s made harder when your seven-year-old son tells you his plans for the week include “crying because you’re not here.”
I asked, and that’s what he told me.
And he meant it. I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his tone.
He said he’s going to miss my hugs and my kisses. He said, “I’m going to miss YOU.”
And then he didn’t want to talk anymore about it.
I will hug and kiss him (and his brothers and their father) goodbye on Friday morning. And as much as it hurts, I’m going to walk out the front door, get in my car, go to work, and go to Greece.
A scene that has been played out countless times in every corner of the world that never, ever gets any easier.