To Jacob's teacher:
Dear Mrs. Langford,
The third week of school, I delivered a new student to your class. You had already spent three weeks getting your new fourth graders accustomed to the routines and expectations of life in Mrs. Langford’s class, yet you welcomed my Jacob with open arms and made him feel as if he had been part of your class from the first day of school.
Throughout the year, you’ve said to me that Jacob came to you believing he couldn’t read. You raised the bar of expectations, provided the guidance, instruction, and structure he needed to be successful, and he blossomed.
I found a quote from a five-year-old that I posted inside my classroom door that read, “My teacher thought I was smarter than I was. So, I was.” You are that teacher, Mrs. Langford, and I am so grateful that Jacob was able to experience an environment where he was encouraged and pushed to be the best he can be.
Words cannot adequately express how much of a blessing you have been to our family. While we are so thrilled that Jacob passed his math and reading EOG tests, those accomplishments don’t (and can’t) fully represent what a difference you’ve made in his life.
You’ve inspired him. You’ve believed in him. You’ve expected his best. You’ve used your time and talents and wisdom to make sure you meet his needs. You’ve empowered him to believe in himself.
Brian and I have felt such peace about our decision to move Jacob to Jenkins this year, and we have you to thank for that. It was obvious from the very beginning that you worked hard to reach every child, every day. Thank you for your passionate dedication to helping children learn and grow.
Know that you make a difference, Mrs. Langford. And thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, for making such a difference in the life of our son. Thank you, thank you, thank you…
Love,
Donna (and Brian)
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To Olivia's teacher and assistants:
Dear Mrs. Debbie, Mrs. Wendy, Mrs. Heather, & Mrs. Net,
I’ve imagined many times over the last few weeks what I would write in this end-of-the-year letter, but here I am, the night before the last day, and I’m at a loss for the right words.
And I’m already crying. Oh, my…
Our life with Olivia has been a roller coaster of emotions. Brian has been my rock, thank goodness (and bless his heart), and though I know he has struggled with the same emotions, he has handled them with grace and calm. I, on the other hand, have traveled the roller coaster with many tears, lots of worries, and admittedly, even some pouting. The truth is, if I could pick the life I wanted for my daughter, it would look much different than the life she has.
However, I believe God is in control. And, on most days, when I actually focus on this belief, I am reminded of what God is doing through Olivia’s life. She may not walk, she may not carry on a conversation, but she is walking through this life wrapped in His light and He is most certainly talking to us through her. So, I’m glad I don’t get to design her life. I’m not the Designer.
God has shown us so many blessings through this baby girl. One of the greatest has been the amazing people He has placed in our lives. A year and a half ago, our sweet Olivia started at Valmead. I was worried, thinking of all the little things you wouldn’t know about our girl as I left her that first day. Those details about how she communicates, how she sits, how she eats, what she does when she’s upset- all those Olivia characteristics you learn only after spending some time with her. I knew she would be just fine in your care, but I felt like I should have sent a “Guidebook to Olivia” to help you understand things- like how she will empty a bookshelf, one book at a time tossed in a pile. Or how she will be stubborn for an entire hour during therapy one day, but then say all her letters by sight the next. Or how she won’t use her thumb to pick up objects and she likes to “read” books starting on the last page.
Before I knew it, you knew her by heart. You understood that bribing her with chocolate was effective. You learned that she loves music and will sing all day long. You came to realize that she is a finicky eater and her meals revolve around peanut butter, goldfish crackers, and fruit. (And M&Ms.) You also learned that she can give the sweetest kisses. And when she says a new word, or sings one of her songs, or falls asleep in your lap, she can make your heart melt.
You have played a part in raising our daughter. You have spent your days surrounding her with love and helping her grow. What more could we ever ask, hope, or pray for?
I’m worried about starting at a new school, wondering if I should send some sort of “Guidebook to Olivia” to help them get to know her. Then I remember- you did just fine. You know her by heart, and one day soon, the people in the next chapter of her life will know her by heart, too. And like us, they will be changed by this sweet girl. They will realize the blessing that she is and how amazing it is to be a part of her life.
But, oh, how it makes my heart ache to think about leaving you. I’m not ready for the next chapter. The chapter we’re in right now suits just fine, thank you very much. (This is evidence of the pouting I mentioned earlier.) Some things in this life are so hard for me, and “letting go” ranks pretty high on that list.
But here we are... at the end of this part of the journey.
I hope you know how much Brian and I love each of you and how thankful we are for everything you’ve done for Olivia. You are angels in our eyes. We are forever grateful to you for filling Olivia’s days will love and joy.
Love,
Donna
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