Reposted from Anne and God
There's a reason they call it comfort food
There are times in life that take your breath away. And they aren't always the beautiful moments of awe and wonder. Sometimes they are the bolts of lightening that remind you of hard truths. Very, very hard truths. One of the hardest of those truths is that of our mortality.
We spend a lot of time waltzing through life as though we will live forever. As though we have infinite time to waste focusing on silly things. We get all worked up about the little insults, real or imagined, that come our way. We fret over those 15 pounds we can never seem to lose and the fact that we can't afford that sports car, or the perfect kitchen makeover, or even that really cute pair of boots.
But for some of us those petty concerns get wiped out with a 10 second phone call.
"It's cancer. It's inoperable. They're giving me three to six months."
And in less time than it takes to put those really cute boots on the kaleidoscope of your life looks a hell of a lot different.
And what does that have to do with comfort food?
Well, sometimes that phone call doesn't come to you. It comes to someone near and dear to you. Who is about to lose someone very precious to them.
And there just don't seem to be ANY words at all you can offer up for comfort. Every word sounds hollow as soon as it leaves your throat. You can put your arms around your loved one and hold them tight. But even that seems insufficient.
So you do one of the only things you can think to do.
You make your loved one a pie.
Or fettuccine Alfredo.
Or mashed potatoes and gravy.
Or whatever comfort food is in your wheelhouse.
Every culture, every family has a recipe that is made and dispensed in time of trouble or illness. It is the food that has been offered to us through all the hard times of our lives by those who love us most. It is how they show us their love and compassion.
And it's why, when that phone call came, I made my husband a pie.
It was the least I could do.