My last visit at BJM was not like anything I expected. The day went by as most do, new in their own way, but never out of the ordinary. I hung out peacefully with the kids, they didn’t demand my attention that much this specific week. They seemed more content with my presence than anything else. I remember not minding much, it had been a rough week of long papers and extensive readings. Most of the kids were happily playing with legos or their own toys. Some were coloring, some wanted to be read to. That’s where I sat between, coloring and reading. It was therapeutic for me– not just the activity, but getting to see the look on a child’s face or listen to the eccentric stories they love to tell. I’m constantly fascinated by how intelligent and creative children are, at all different ages. It’s disheartening now to think about that day. It seemed pretty simple among other days, special in its own way, but not too important. I miss it now. I miss seeing the kids, I miss being asked to read stories, I miss being given drawings, I miss hearing them laugh and ask questions and tell the most interesting anecdotes. I miss watching them learn, I miss witnessing their small everyday growths, and I miss being at BJM. If I would’ve known it had been my last, I would’ve hugged Mrs. Stacy a little tighter, spoken to Mrs. Sarah and Mrs. Patel a little longer, been a little, even just a little more present and engaged with the kids.