Laughing 'Goodbye.' Takoyaki Teacher's Graduation Ceremony

That child who used to bake perfectly round takoyaki in the infirmary.

We started interacting when they gradually stopped coming to school, crying, and hurting themselves.
Their family was also going through trial and error on what to do, and I felt a sense of tension in facing them as well.
Words I should say, words I shouldn't say, unsure if I was doing the right thing, struggling with how to respond.

But even for me, someone who always lives with a heart capacity the size of a small sake cup, there are things I think about.

・Whether they go to the classroom or take a break from school is not the priority to think about at that moment; I want to know what is going on inside their heart.

・When they come to school, rather than 'It's okay that you came,' it's more like 'I'm happy to see you.'
And it wasn't that I was trying to act cool, but a greeting like 'Yoo-hoo' would just naturally come out when we met. (I wonder if there are others among you who say this...)

・And I also tell the family that this current situation is nothing to worry about. I just want to convey that it's okay not to measure their heart by the superficial fact of whether they are coming to school or not. And then, we think of one thing we can do right now.

March.
Takoyaki Teacher had decided early on that they would not attend the main graduation ceremony, but would come to school in the afternoon to receive their diploma from the principal.

The moment I made eye contact with their mother who came to school that day, we both couldn't hold back and sobbed...
No words came out. The past few years we had faced together. The family members.
'It really is nothing to worry about, isn't it,' the mother said with a tearful smile.
To the venue. The child sat down, and the parents sat behind them. The grade staff who had been involved watched over them from around the room.
The sight of them looking the principal straight in the eye and receiving the diploma with dignity.

There was no feeling of nervousness or tears; the child looked bright and clear.
We saw them off with applause, a true farewell.

Then, at the end, the child gave a letter to their homeroom teacher.
Next, to me as well.
And then, they laughed and graduated.

When I opened the letter in the quiet infirmary,

'Teacher, you always said, "[Name]'s power is amazing," but from my perspective, your power is crazy and enough to save the Earth once.'

As I read on,
'Teacher, you will continue to interact with many people, please live without pushing yourself too hard.'

Please live without pushing yourself too hard...

Was this something they wrote because they saw something in me and felt something?
With a heart capacity the size of a sake cup, getting flustered easily, criticizing myself...
The tension in my shoulders, which had been stiff for decades, finally melted away.
The movement of my heart at that moment.

(And now, I have come to realize that even with a heart capacity the size of a sake cup, and even without confidence, I can decide and choose how I act.)

Now, Takoyaki Teacher has jumped into the world of dogs, which they loved, and is doing their best every day.
It's not that everything is good for anyone, nor is everything painful.
I am being taught things like that.

Having done this for 30 years, it's only happened a few times, and while not everything is pretty...

Today's musing
'If I can make eye contact with someone today and say "Yoo-hoo," is that enough?'

※There are some children who are truly unresponsive and expressionless, but it's interesting to see the change where they start to look like 'Who is this person?' because I say 'Yoo-hoo' every time we meet.