Goodbye can be the chocolate your soul craves.
It is like this;
You have tried to diet for a long time. The reasons why are different. Maybe you want to build muscle. Maybe you want to maintain a certain weight. Or you want to dedicate yourself to a certain food lifestyle.
You still want that something sweet.
Or you’re like me. You want that savory taste.
While I’ll admit to watching too much Chef’s Table on Netflix, when we taste that something we want, it gives us a child-like satisfaction.
Goodbyes are not always hard or the emotional words we wish the poet in our heart could transcribe for our loved ones.
Some goodbyes are the savory or sweet moments we need and crave.
I have written about the emotional, poetic and some joyful goodbyes, and this is where we are with our last post about goodbye in my series:
the sweet,
the savory,
what we crave,
the kind of goodbye Corrie gave.
Corrie gave goodbyes at her school in the way I make cheesecake.
It takes time.
Steps.
More than one day, but made with love.
She went to two different preschools because we moved. Corrie made friends at both schools.
Last year when I picked her up, she would go around the room and hug her friends whether they wanted it or not.
“Corrie, let’s roll.”
The first time she’d ignore me or say in a sweet voice made of cinnamon, but had steel beneath it:
“I have to say goodbye to Jaimie.”
She’d hurry to that part of the room and wrap her arms around Jaimie. Corrie was the kind of kid who pulled you into her chest. She’d let you know with a hug how important you were.
I was always ready to go. Irritation entered my voice because I still had to drive out of the town where my kids and I went to school. When I got off of our exit in our hometown, I had to sit through six years worth of traffic just to get to the light.
“Corrie,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Usually, I rolled my hand. I pointed to the exit.
She would hug her guy friends. They would be in the middle of doing something, and she usually wrapped her arms around their necks.
Again she pulled them in and let them know in her goodbye how important they were. Sometimes a few would hug her back the way you hug Aunt Sally.
(For the record, I have a few aunts, and I love to hug them all anytime.)
Corrie had a group of little girls in particular last year. This was a never ending show of hugs.
If they could throw glitter and invite a herd of unicorns to add to the drama of their goodbye hugs, they would.
If the kids were outside, I had to wait longer for the run and hug, another run and hug, and one more.
Corrie would hug these girls and hold on. They responded with the same. This hug could be as long as five Mississippis.
“Corrie, I want to go home.”
Then she’d speak in her ultra sweet, but dramatic voice to her friend.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” as if to say, “I’ll never see you again.”
Some days I finally just took her hand and guided her out because I did not have time for the forever goodbyes.
When we got into the hall, we weren’t done. If one of the girls was in the hall, we had to give another hug, plus show whatever art project they had done that day.
Corrie took a “lovie” each day for nap. She would take it home, and as she put it in her backpack, she’d show it to whichever preschooler was in the hall.
“This is my Kitty,” she’d say.
“Alright, time to roll.”
This year, before COVID-19, she still had some serious goodbyes to give. She had a claas full of boys, and she was one of only two girls. She had two little boys who responded to her unicorns and glitter hugs.
But she was more focused on her brother by then and where he was located as we prepared to leave.
Corrie saved her most dramatic goodbyes for her father or me.
Corrie had another side many people claimed they never saw.
My angel, yes my angel, would have full blown screaming meltdowns. We worked with her on them, but that were a part of her.
If she felt she had not received a proper goodbye hug or kiss from John or I, she would scream at the top of her lungs in the car:
“I want to say goodbye to Daddy.”
“He was right there. I have to get to work.”
I did a countdown for her to calm down before I had a toy in my possession. Then she shuttered three breaths like she was about to fall asleep.
When she hugged us, we gave her a kiss and a hug. You could not cheap out on your hugs either. She wanted you to squeeze her. She gave it back to you when she pulled you in.
Corrie gave the kind of goodbye everyone needs. It said “You are important,”
or
“You are loved.”
Corrie’s goodbye was the kind of chocolate or savory dish we crave.
It was given with the kind of love our world needs right now.
By Rebecca T. Dickinson
When we Say Goodbye, Part I in series
With my Goodbye, Mom, Your Walls will Fall Down, Part II in series
Corrie's Season 