A Path of Hope

A Path of Hope

Milestones such as graduations or transitions to new beginnings need to be celebrated.  Seven years ago, an orphan with little hope for a prosperous future, became a beloved daughter.  Seven years later, she graduates from elementary school, a beautiful young lady.  

The road is never easy.  The path is bumpy and rough.  There were tears of sorrow and pain.  You left for kindergarten, not knowing if you would see me again.  I saw it on your face. You spoke little English.  You were brave, on a bus, alone.  I was scared, you were scared.  I followed the bus and met you at the door.  We walked together hand in hand to the class room.  Nervous and anxious, I cried all day.

You moved on to the next year of kindergarten, two years, all day, everyday.  It was intense.  You were challenged, learning colors and letters, in the beginning.  From a native language, to Spanish, to English, you communicated your needs.  We struggled.  You held your teacher at the end of the year, not wanting to let go.  I held you.

First grade, another school and reading words was your next goal.  You, the new kid, different, set apart.  You made a friend, who struggled with language too.  Another friend, from your old school, helped you feel welcome.  You were branching out beyond your mother, growing.  Day after day, night after night, you studied, learned and mastered the new language.  Dedicated, you worked hard.  It wasn’t easy.  

Second grade brought a supportive and nurturing teacher, who cried with me, talking about your progress.  She had hope.  I had hope.  You were our hope.  Extra help was needed.  I fought for your success matching your determination.  Together, we could do it.

Third grade, a split in your room, friends moved to another class.  It was difficult, but you managed, again.  More support was needed, a girlfriend and a teacher, all in one.  Caring about reading and caring about you, together you prospered.  You worked hard, gaining progress, step by little step.  

   

Fourth grade, a male leading the class for the first time,  you called him a “boy teacher”.  Split again from your core friends, you bonded with others.  Learning who you were and how strong you are, you excelled. Drama, tears, and hugs, we made it through.  Talks about safety and protection, boys and friends began a new journey.  Pierced ears and text messages, opened your world.  I was scared.  You were confident.

Fifth grade, back together as a group, with a teacher you adored.  You mastered language, writing and speaking.  Kumon assisted your math skills, as did your hard work, nightly.   Between books and friends, you knew who you were and stayed true to yourself.  I was proud.  You were growing.  

As you finish your last day in elementary school, I write this to remember and reflect on the years gone by, and take a moment to celebrate you.  As I did, the first day of kindergarten, I cried all day.  

With love,

Mom