The Privilege of Letting Go

Written by ISZL Director Barry Dequanne

Having a child is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.

These words by the author and educator Elizabeth Stone speak to the deep vulnerability of parenting, a love that has followed your child from their first breath to this very moment.

As another school year came to a close, we have had the privilege of walking this path alongside young people as they grow. From tentative first steps to confident strides, we have witnessed moments of courage, curiosity, and connection that have shaped not only not only our children and students but also all of us who care for them.

The close of a school year is more than an ending. It is an opportunity to honour the remarkable journey of our students. From their first friendships to quiet triumpfs, our children – our hearts – have been learning, growing, and discovering who they are. For years, our hearts have walked outside our bodies, facing fears, asking big questions, and finding their place in the world. And even now, as we prepare for what comes next, it is natural to worry. We worry not because we doubt them, but because we love them so deeply.

To worry for our child is to love, of which the weight of that worry is a privilege.

As parents, teachers, and caregivers, we carry that worry, wondering if they are safe, if they are happy, and if we have done enough to prepare them. It is not always easy. But it is an enduring and extraordinary privilege to care so deeply, to be entrusted with their hopes, their learning, and their becoming.

We will always worry, not because we doubt them, but because we care so deeply for them. And this is what binds us, as we let go just a little more, trusting that the hearts we have nurtured will continue to grow, to give, and to shine in the world.

If we are honest, parenting is hard, really hard. It stretches our patience, our courage, our capacity to let go. And yet, it is one of life’s greatest gifts to walk beside a young person as they become who they are meant to be. What a privilege to be part of something so vast, yet so ordinary. It is an everyday act of grace and courage that humbles us, keeps us up at night, and also fills our hearts in the quietest moments.

The end of a school year is a moment of further release, not because we are done, but because they are ready. We let them go to the next level of learning, knowing we will always hold the quiet privilege of worry. And still, our children and students give us everything in return. We all have moments when this truth becomes incredibly clear.

This was reinforced when our four-year-old son Bento went into the hospital for a tonsillectomy. It is a common procedure, but that did not ease my worry as we watched him so small in the hospital bed, so vulnerable. Just prior to the surgery, as he lay sedated and seemingly asleep, I whispered in his ear that I loved him and would see him soon. As the nurses were about to wheel him away, he opened his eyes and asked me to come closer. I leaned in, expecting something serious. Instead, he blew a raspberry on my cheek. He giggled, then gave a soft, sleepy laugh before drifting off.

In that moment, filled with my own fears, he reached out with mischief and joy. Not despite the worry, but through it. And that’s what our children do. They remind us that even in hard moments, the world still holds beauty and humour. They remind us, again and again, that even in difficult moments, the world still holds joy, wonder, and laughter. And those small, perfect, ridiculous moments are what carry us forward.

For all of us, students taking those next steps, and parents learning to let go, the lesson is that life does not wait until everything is resolved to offer us meaning. It arrives in gestures of connection and love, in beautifully ordinary moments that remind us what it means to be alive.

And so, we close a school year with quiet but determined conviction. It takes strength to care deeply: to be present, to help with homework, to share something that matters to you, or to just show up. Each of these small acts affirms that people matter, that the world holds meaning, and that it is worth investing in.

To our families and educators, thank you. Thank you for your care, your worry, and the profound privilege of letting go.

Borrowing from the poet Kahlil Gibran:

You are the bows from which your children, our students, as living arrows are sent forth.

We feel the bend of that bow, the tension of pride, wonder, and worry as we prepare to let them fly. Not because we stop caring, but because we know they are ready. And we do so knowing that even as they soar, they will always carry a piece of us, and we will always carry a piece of them.

To every student, thank you for letting us walk alongside you. Thank you for becoming the young people we admire and are proud to know. As you move forward, may you carry with you the brave emotion of hope, not as naïveté, but as courage, as you turn your learning into action, and living our school’s mission to make the world, or at least your corner of it, a kinder, better place.

Photo: My son Bento leaping from a diving board