I whisper the names of teachers who once worked in my school as I enter the building each day.
Every day. Without exception.
These are people who have retired. Moved onto new schools. New careers. New opportunities. After almost 20 years, there are a lot of them.
Many of them are people who were as close and dear to me as anyone ever in my life.
Thankfully, many of them still are.
Remarkable educators. Good people. The best of friends.
I whisper their names, starting with Elysha. I see them in my mind's eye. I think about the days they spent teaching children inside these brick walls. The laughter we shared. The unforgettable moments. I squeeze as many of them into my mind as possible before slipping through the door and starting a new day.
I'm basically a walking, talking nostalgia machine that suffers from a permanent state of existential crisis.