Him: “NOOOOO!! I don’t want to leave second grade and Ms. J!!!!” Then, the weeping.
The grief is real and cannot be redirected with a cookie, the way that it could be in younger days. Please substitute strawberry for cookie if you lean toward paranoia about dysfunctional food/emotion relationships.
All I can do is bear witness–hold him and let him cry and tell him that it will be okay. I ache for him long after he has fallen into deep sleep. Ache for my dad, who passed away three summers ago, who can’t take my Father’s Day call. The aches, apparently, all share a condo in the same neighborhood of my chest.