Sunglasses on the Last Day

Every year on the last day of school, I wear my sunglasses.

Not for fashion. Not for sun protection.
For emotional survival.

I prop them on my head all day like a hair accessory with a secret purpose. Then, right at the final bell—when the hugs start, the buses load, and the goodbyes come in waves—I quietly slide them down over my eyes.

You know why.

One year, a student caught on. “Are you gonna cry when we leave today?”

I nodded. “Yep.”
“But why? Aren’t you happy summer is here?”
I smiled. “I am. But this was such a good year. I love each of you, and while I’m excited to see all you’ll do next, it’s hard to let you go.”

They paused, considering this. Then they shrugged. “Okay.”

It’s funny, isn’t it? How the last day is a strange cocktail of relief, grief, pride, and total emotional whiplash. You’re ready for the quiet, but the silence after the final dismissal hits differently. For 180 days, these kids were yours. They walked in every morning (maybe late, maybe with mismatched socks and cereal breath), and you greeted them, taught them, guided them. You learned their quirks, their dreams, their handwriting, their tells when something was wrong. You were their constant.

And now, like that, they’re off.

You send them out a little taller, a little wiser, a little more ready for what’s next.

So if you wore sunglasses too, if you choked up as the last bus pulled away, if you sat in your empty classroom and took a deep breath that was equal parts joy and ache—you’re not alone.

You did something big this year.

You shaped readers. Writers. Thinkers.
You made someone feel seen.
You turned chaos into community.
You gave your heart over and over again—and somehow, even on fumes, you never ran out.

That deserves more than just a thank-you. It deserves a standing ovation. A quiet moment. A long nap. A coffee refill that doesn’t go cold before the first sip.

So here’s to the sunglasses-wearers, the goodbye-huggers, the deep-feelers, the teachers who gave it their all:

You made it. You mattered. And you made magic happen.