A Girl's Gotta Eat!
When Laura died, I didn't believe there would be a day when I did not cry. People told me time would be healing and slowly I would begin to mend the cracked wounds of my heart. They were right, of course. With spring came house projects, wedding planning, and welcomed distractions. We were hurting, but we were looking forward. Mostly. Little reminders of Laura still decorated our lives and brought us back to our reality. Our citrus plants, our cookbooks, my wall of yarn- Laura's influence was everywhere. But we could look at these things and smile; "Laura's here," we'd say as we smelled another lemon flower blossoming.
We've been finding comfort in food. In the days following Laura's death, I baked everything. Creme de menthe brownies, braided cardamon bread, cheesecake, cornbread drizzled with hot honey. Pies, blondies, french bread. If it had butter and flour, I made it and we ate it.
A few years ago I might have been self-conscious with this coping mechanism. Using food as comfort can't be healthy, I might have worried. But I read recently that it is perfectly normal to escape into food. In fact, it's been ingrained in us since our infancy when our parents soothed us with milk and affection. So escape we did. For a few minutes every day, we could move the conversation to one of joy and delight. We could pretend to be normal again.
Saturday when I received news that my friend Ana had died unexpectedly, I moved back to this cycle immediately. Despite the pressures of needing to fit into a wedding dress in two weeks, I dove into a box of Cheez-It, I ate Dairy Queen for lunch, and I toasted Ana with a tall glass of rosé. I marinated sirloin tips, kneaded bread dough, and sprinkled fresh cheddar on my fried eggs. In a way, I feel like I'm channeling Ana- a proud Portuguese woman who loved to cook and celebrated all of life's milestones, the good and bad, with food and drink.
Of course, food isn't the only way we heal, but it can be a powerful tool to help us along the way. When Dan and I get married next Saturday, I'll be thinking of Laura and Ana- two foodies- as we sip champagne and flag down servers with trays of hors-d'oeuvres. There may be ugly crying, but I am here for it.
We've been finding comfort in food. In the days following Laura's death, I baked everything. Creme de menthe brownies, braided cardamon bread, cheesecake, cornbread drizzled with hot honey. Pies, blondies, french bread. If it had butter and flour, I made it and we ate it.
A few years ago I might have been self-conscious with this coping mechanism. Using food as comfort can't be healthy, I might have worried. But I read recently that it is perfectly normal to escape into food. In fact, it's been ingrained in us since our infancy when our parents soothed us with milk and affection. So escape we did. For a few minutes every day, we could move the conversation to one of joy and delight. We could pretend to be normal again.
Saturday when I received news that my friend Ana had died unexpectedly, I moved back to this cycle immediately. Despite the pressures of needing to fit into a wedding dress in two weeks, I dove into a box of Cheez-It, I ate Dairy Queen for lunch, and I toasted Ana with a tall glass of rosé. I marinated sirloin tips, kneaded bread dough, and sprinkled fresh cheddar on my fried eggs. In a way, I feel like I'm channeling Ana- a proud Portuguese woman who loved to cook and celebrated all of life's milestones, the good and bad, with food and drink.
Of course, food isn't the only way we heal, but it can be a powerful tool to help us along the way. When Dan and I get married next Saturday, I'll be thinking of Laura and Ana- two foodies- as we sip champagne and flag down servers with trays of hors-d'oeuvres. There may be ugly crying, but I am here for it.
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| Our beautiful Laura |
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| Sassy Ana |
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