I braced myself for it all day. Nah, all year.

The last day of kindergarten, Ms. X read the A.A. Milne poem appropriately titled “The End” to Annabelle — she reads it to all her kindergarteners on their sixth birthdays, and since Annabelle’s birthday is in July, the summer birthdays were celebrated on the last day.

I knew all year that Sophie’s actual birthday would fall on the last day of school, and I knew I would cry through that poem, which, if you don’t know it, goes like this:

When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three
I was hardly me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five, I was just alive.
But now I am Six, I’m as clever as clever,
So I think I’ll be six now for ever and ever.

The class sang it all together, quickly, so it was like pulling off a Band-Aid, even if no one meant it that way. I really didn’t get too upset til we’d dispensed with Sophie’s birthday and Ms. X said her final goodbyes. Each child was called to the front of the room, wearing his or her backpack, and asked to turn around, so Ms. X could place a folder with Important Papers like report cards and a summer reading list in the backpack.

Then the child turned back around, and could choose a handshake, high five or hug from Ms. X.

Almost every kid chose a hug.

I sat and watched and cried and it occured to me that Ms. X was calling the kids in alphabetical order by first name, and Sophie’s comes so late in the alphabet, she’d be the last man standing, as it were. I prepared myself for a good sob. The gods got the last laugh, though. I forgot about a little girl named Zoe.

Still, there was plenty to tear up over.

I think the gods understood, after all, because tonight — after the last hugs and pictures and presents — it poured rain. And it never pours rain on the last day of school.