Be gentle with teachers. They are mourning something.

We have all mourned the “old” way of life continuously since March. But starting a new school year used to have a shine to it. A blank canvas in front of every child as they meet their new teachers.

Teachers are not themselves. They are working through something. It’s a profound something. It’s the feeling they have had every year as they prepare to go back: a fresh set of eyes, a summer where they were able to reflect, and new ideas that they would usher back to the classroom they love.

Their classrooms, which are usually extensions of their love for the work the do. The posters on the walls, the silly sayings written on the board- the room, its furniture and decor was made to put children at ease. That space now has a dictated layout with removed excess furniture. That space now requires a tape measure to space student from student from student from student from teacher.

They are mourning active and loud group work, high fives as student after student enter the room. They mourn not having to count or record keep the number of kids in the room, the cohort, the cleaning day. They mourn recess and field trips and crowded club meetings. They mourn the stream of kids coming through the door for extra help.

They are mourning the organization and planning that usually absorbs a teacher at the start of the year. The planning that gives them great comfort. The planning that is so difficult now— many teachers are frozen, the unknowns are too many.

They are mourning something new with every logistical piece that is released. Bathrooms, lunches, busses, mask breaks, contact tracing, livestreaming. They are mourning the “a ha!” moments that might not be as discoverable in online instruction.

They are mourning the days they won’t see your children. The moments in class when they could connect that didn’t require a laptop or a Zoom link.

They are mourning lessons they knew by heart that didn’t need a single word written down- lessons they taught every year off the cuff. Lessons they know excite a room full of [fill in the blank] aged kids.

Environment. They are mourning that, too. Windows and doors open, disinfectant sprays and sanitizing gels. Gloves to hand out papers. Shared resources like markers and highlighters and poster paper, all sit on the shelves. Their most creative lessons now exist on pretty online programs, but don’t feel the same.

They are mourning the simplicity of their work. Work they have perfected over many weeks, or years, or decades. They are mourning the confidence that used to absorb them in learning something new. Now, everything is new.

They are mourning their own children’s active school and sports lives. Children who were excited about their teacher and their field trip and their Halloween fun fair. They are mourning the routine of going back to school as a family. Kids off to the bus stop with backpacks on. Parents off to their classrooms to take on another year.

They are mourning smiles. Smiles they used to rely on to check on kids, to see that they are with them. Smiles teachers wore to tell their students, “I see you.” They can’t imagine teaching without kids seeing their smile, each and every day.

They are mourning the burst energy they always get that first day- the blend of excitement, nervousness, and pure love for their job. They will still have it, be sure, but it will be tempered somehow. Not the same sparkle.

They are mourning the hallway student who would open his arms for a hug. “I’ve missed you Mr. ______!”

They are mourning the new face on the work they absolutely love. They are trying to fit what’s required together with what’s always been done before and it just doesn’t fit. They are mourning their own experience and what it has always afforded them. Now, they look at their colleagues and share their most overwhelming and anxious feelings. “It’s like starting all over again.” And it is.

They are also mourning a time when going to work posed almost no risks. Thinking about all of the possible scenarios that can play out in regards to their families’ and their students’ health has caused them many sleepless nights. They want to return to the same classroom they left. But they won’t.

They are mourning a profession they truly love and are devoted to. With no indication as to when (if ever) it will be returned back to them as they knew it.

But- they will take this mourning. They will push it down to their toes. They will do for kids what they’ve always done. And they will don a smile under their mask each day.

So, please. Be gentle with teachers. They are mourning something. A profound something.