Last year, my fourth-grade son went through many goodbyes.
To teachers he loved.
To places that had slowly, carefully become his safe spaces.
For a child who does not attend regular school, those places were not just locations—they were lifelines.
“I feel like my place in the world is disappearing,”
he said quietly.
I wanted him to remember something important, so I said,
“Some places may be gone, but I think you still have so many people on your side.”
“Oh… that’s true,” he said—and began to count.
Everyone at Matsubaso.
Everyone where we join as a member of a community play park.
The people from the farm.
The teachers at his therapy center.
The teachers and friends from his after-school program.
And our relatives.
He slowly named each and every one, taking his time, and then said with a smile,
“I have so many people supporting me.”
Watching him nod happily, I felt overwhelmed by all the kindness and connection we’ve been given.
昨年、長男は沢山の別れを経験した。
大好きな先生たち、療育先、放課後デイ、習い事。
不登校の彼がようやく見つけた居場所が、いくつか減ってしまった。
「俺の居場所がなくなっていく…」
と悲しそうな長男に思い出して欲しくて、
「場所は無くなっちゃったけど、私は、君には仲間がたくさんいると思うよ」
と言ったら、そうか!と長男が数え出した。
松葉荘のあやさんも、あだっちゃんも、他のお母さん大学生やその子どもたちも、
プレイパーク仲間の大人や子どもたちも、
農業体験先の大人や子どもたちも、
療育先の先生たちも、
放課後デイの先生やお友達も、
沢山いる親戚たちも、
時間をかけて一人一人、名前を挙げて、
「俺にはこんなに味方がいたわ!」
と、嬉しそうに頷いた。
沢山の人とご縁に恵まれて、ここまでやってこれたんだなあ。なんだか胸がいっぱいになった。
































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