The morning was heavy with the scent of damp earth as rain clouds loomed low over the rolling hills. Libby tightened the knot on her boots and gave the boy a firm look. “You’ll thank me for this one day,” she said, her voice resolute, though her hands trembled slightly.
Eight-year-old Jamie folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. “No, I won’t. I don’t even want to do this.”
Libby sighed. She knew this would be hard. Breaking old habits always was. But it was time. Jamie’s attachment to his pacifier had gone from endearing to problematic. His teachers had started to comment on it, and the other kids whispered behind his back. Yet, every attempt to wean him off the little plastic comforter had failed.
This time, she had a plan. It was unconventional—bordering on absurd—but Libby believed in it. More importantly, she believed in Jamie.
“We’re going for a walk,” she announced, hoisting her pack over her shoulder.
Jamie’s brows furrowed. “In this weather?”
“Yes, in this weather,” she said, handing him a pair of old rain boots. “Trust me.”
He didn’t trust her, not even a little, but he stomped into the boots nonetheless, dragging his feet like a prisoner sentenced to the gallows.
The trail behind their house was slick with mud, the kind that sucked at your shoes and made squelching noises with every step. Libby led the way, her boots caked in brown sludge within minutes. Jamie trailed behind, muttering under his breath.
“Where are we going?” he asked after a particularly deep puddle nearly swallowed his foot.
“You’ll see,” Libby replied cryptically.
The journey wasn’t far, but the terrain made it feel endless. By the time they reached the clearing, Jamie’s mood had soured further. He stood with arms akimbo, staring at the small creek that ran through the field. The water was murky, swollen from the rain, and surrounded by patches of thick, gloppy mud.
“This is it?” Jamie asked, incredulous.
“This is it,” Libby confirmed. She knelt down and pulled something from her pack—a small wooden box. Jamie’s eyes widened when she opened it, revealing a collection of his old pacifiers.
“Why do you have those?” he demanded, a mix of anger and panic rising in his voice.
Libby held one up. It was his favorite—blue with a tiny star in the center. “Jamie,” she began, her tone gentle but firm, “it’s time to say goodbye to these.”
“No!” Jamie shouted, reaching for the pacifier, but Libby held it out of his grasp. “You can’t take them! I need them!”
“You don’t need them,” she said softly. “You think you do, but you’re stronger than this. And today, we’re going to prove it.”
Jamie’s face crumpled. “I don’t want to prove anything.”
Libby sighed. She had anticipated resistance, but seeing his distress tugged at her heart. Still, she pressed on. “We’re going to bury them, Jamie. Right here, by the creek. It’s a goodbye ceremony.”
Jamie looked at her as if she’d sprouted a second head. “That’s stupid.”
“Maybe,” Libby admitted. “But sometimes, saying goodbye is the bravest thing we can do.”
Jamie hesitated, his small fists clenching and unclenching. Libby knelt down and began to dig a shallow hole in the mud with her hands. The cool, sticky earth squelched between her fingers. “You can help me,” she offered, glancing up at him.
For a long moment, Jamie stood frozen. Then, reluctantly, he crouched beside her and began to dig. The mud was cold and slimy, but there was something satisfying about the way it yielded to their hands. When the hole was big enough, Libby handed Jamie the pacifiers.
“Go on,” she said gently.
Jamie stared at them, his face a storm of emotions. Slowly, he placed them in the hole, one by one. When he reached the blue one with the star, he hesitated. His lip quivered, and for a moment, Libby thought he might change his mind. But then, with a deep breath, he placed it in the mud and looked at her.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Libby smiled. “Okay.” Together, they covered the hole, patting the earth down until it looked like nothing had ever been there.
As they stood, Jamie looked at the creek, then back at the buried spot. “Will they be okay down there?”
“They’ll be fine,” Libby assured him. “And so will you.”
The rain started again, a gentle drizzle that quickly turned the mud into a slippery mess. Jamie slipped, landing on his backside with a loud squelch. For a moment, there was silence. Then, to Libby’s surprise, Jamie began to laugh—a loud, unrestrained laugh that echoed through the clearing.
Libby joined in, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Together, they trudged back home, covered in mud but feeling strangely cleansed.
That night, Jamie went to bed without asking for his pacifier. And though Libby heard him sniffle softly into his pillow, she knew he’d made progress.
Sometimes, letting go was the hardest part. But in the end, it was also the most freeing.
