I Swear You Will Be Fine

Dear Josh,

I kind of went out of my comfort zone and signed up for something I’m not sure I’m ready for. Honestly, even now, just days before the event, I’m still thinking if I’m ready for it – likely not. Basically, on the 31^st of October 2025, my children are graduating from preschool. Years ago, whenever I thought of them graduating, I always envisioned myself in the crowd watching. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to continue teaching them up to Kindergarten Two (I left for Uni), but I was certain that I’d come back just to watch them graduate. Clearly, this year had different plans for me. I ended up being very unsure if I could handle a morning of seeing my friends/ex-colleagues and the children’s parents (they were/are my friends too) after not responding to their texts for this whole year. I’ve been thinking about this since July – if I should attend their graduation or not – and last week, I finally reached out to a close friend/ex-colleague of mine and asked if she could spare me a ticket. Sadly, she said seats were full and I thought, “That’s fine, this is you telling me I shouldn’t go.” But a while later, another close friend/child’s parent texted me saying she got me an extra ticket. She somehow knew that I was struggling with this dilemma even though I didn’t tell her! She was also super sweet and kept reiterating that there was no pressure on me to show up. So, I took this as you telling me to go or I’ll regret it. I know that deep down in my heart I would regret it if I missed their graduation. I think you somehow knew what I subconciously needed – wouldn’t be the first time.

I know this might sound like a small thing to others, though I also know that you’d never undermine what matters to me. I don’t know how to explain why watching them graduate means so much to me. I guess it’s because I’ve been picturing watching them graduate for years, since I started teaching them when they were toddlers. So, how could I miss it, right? And they are technically, and unfortunately, the only children I’ll have in this lifetime. I mean, I really treated these children as if they were my own. I’ve held teethers for them as toddlers while they dribbled all over my hand, I’ve caught vomit with my bare hands, picked up their “doo-doo”, wiped their pee off the floor… I’ve also done pleasant things with them too! Like excitedly jump up and down when I witnessed them speaking their first words, taught them how to hold a pencil, use chopsticks, potty-trained them, taught them how to read and write, etc. I feel like in a way, if you’re being really kind, I partially raised them. But, through this two and a half years, I’ve learnt so, so much from them (possibly more than I’ve taught them). I find that you really can learn a lot about life from kids. So, how could I miss my only children’s graduation just because I can’t muster enough strength for one morning?

Last year, I volunteered to assist them backstage for their annual concert. It was also around October when I went to help out for two of their full-dress rehearsals and the main event. After each rehearsal and event, I’d come over to your place and just lay on your bed in exhaustion. I remember you helping me take off my jacket because I was too tired to move (I was that tired!). You were reminding me that I could just go home if I was tired, that I didn’t need to spend time with you, but I told you that spending time with you (even if we weren’t doing much) was like recharging for me. I was also sharing with you that this was how I was like after work each day for the two and a half years that I was a teacher. I loved teaching so much, and I miss it all the time, but it was genuinely so physically exhausting for me. I told you that I’d come home after work and operate on “low power mode” for the rest of the day because I had no energy left. Those three days that I came home exhausted from helping out, we just stayed together talking like that – about how our lives would look like if I had chosen to continue teaching. You’d teasingly laugh at me every now and then because of how tired I was. You did say though, that if I really miss it, I could always do it again when I’m way older – as a retirement job. But I joked that when we retire, we would have saved enough money to be doing way more fun things together.

I still don’t know how I’m going to be for the 31^st. It’s the 31^st – which is already going to be harder for us than usual – and now I’ve added on the stress of seeing my friends and children for the first time since losing you. I don’t know how I’m going to react to their “I’m sorry for your loss” faces. I don’t know how I’m going to react if they just pretend nothing has happened either. That’s actually one of the reasons I can’t bring myself to hang out with my friends – I don’t want to have them sit with me and cry about losing you, and I don’t want them to carry on as if we were hanging out last year, as if I hadn’t lost you – which leaves me nowhere. I’ll bring tissues though.

I think you’d be happy that I’m going to see them, though I won’t linger after the event to say hi or take pictures… I don’t think I can do that yet. You were always happy that I got along so well with the kids and their parents. I think you were really proud whenever we’d get stopped in malls because the kids or parents recognized me and wanted to say hi. On one of our first few dates after we had gotten together, we were stopped by my kid and his parents while walking around Jewel. I got really shy because I think we were holding hands when they spotted us. When they approached us, you stepped back to give us some space. I knelt down to give the little one a hug and introduced you to his parents. You stepped forward to say hi and they left us after some minor pleasantries. You still remembered these kid’s name even months later. I think you actually remember several of my kids’ names! I must have talked about them quite a bit.

Wish me luck for the 31^st, Josh. Really counting on your help. I can’t wait to see you again. I love you more, always, and forever.

Love always,
Sha