I click send and, just like that, my classroom is closing. From my kitchen, I hear pounding and sanding going on in the front room. My husband, the carpenter, coaxes wood into agreeing to be my new home office desk. “Do you want to look out the window or away from it?” he calls.

I want to look out the window, I tell him. I’ll be alone more often now.

My own children will be off to school. My classroom children will be somebody else’s. It will happen subtly. One day one of the children will say, “Remember Mrs. Moran? She was funny.” or something like that.

I love being a teacher. I love saying I’m a teacher. Whenever Christmas break comes around, I miss them and can’t wait to hear about their stories when they return. I live for those moments when a kid comes rushing into class to tell you something funny because he knows you’ll get it. That delicious moment when it’s just the two of you, laughing your head off at the way his baby brother ate the wrapping paper.

So when you hear that I’ve decided to leap into the world of editorial writing and educational marketing, don’t think that I won’t miss classroom teaching terribly. Change may be inevitable and it may exciting, but it never means you won’t be heartbroken.