by Elizabeth Downing
When people pass away, the first conversation often revolves around how we will show our grief or share our condolences. While some people deal with difficult days by shunning food in any form, it seems a universal belief that the difficult days that arise due to a death in the family are made more tolerable with the presence of food – and lots of it. When my dad passed away, it was the first time I experienced a death in my very immediate family. I assumed I would lose all appetite, that nothing would have any flavor or appeal in any way. WRONG! And my dad wouldn’t have had it any other way!
I have many stories revolving around meals and sweet treats, but I don’t know if any adequately portray the epic proportions of my family’s, and my dad’s, love for food. My grandmother was, by all accounts, a great cook. When my mom and dad married, my mom had a lot to live up to – and live up to it she did! While claiming she could barely boil an egg when they married, she is difficult to take seriously as, at 95 years old, she still participates in whipping up a French silk pie, or a full Thanksgiving dinner for 25 with Creole egg casserole, scalloped oysters, perfectly cooked beef tenderloin, and homemade yeast rolls.
Yes, my dad loved food and, luckily, my mom accommodated. But it wasn’t just the home-cooked variety that Daddy craved. While he loved homemade ice cream, he also knew every Dairy Dip between Louisville and Nashville, and which ones had the servers who would pile the soft-serve ice cream a foot tall. The man could eat an ice cream cone faster than any human I’ve ever seen, and apparently didn’t understand the concept of “brain freeze.” His adoration of the dairy treats was not limited to those on a cone. My daughter has a particular memory of my dad picking her and her cousin up from school when they were third- and fourth-graders and beating a path to the nearest frosty. Unfortunately, one direction was blocked by a train, another by construction – but true to his nature, he found a way to the frozen treat on the third directional attempt (and after uttering only one curse word which was whispered to me later when my daughter said “Poppy said a bad word”).
Daddy had many health problems over the years that led to many dietary restrictions, most of which were tweaked, or even contorted beyond recognition, in order for him to continue to enjoy good food. He wasn’t really supposed to eat candy, but it wasn’t the least bit unusual to find a bag of Twix bars squirreled away beside his chair. He was always interested in the Halloween haul of the grandchildren, pretending innocent curiosity as he pawed through looking for the Hershey Kisses and snuck as many as he could in his big hand. Easter provided yet another candy extravaganza. The purported, “Let me see how many eggs you found” was a poorly disguised raid on the sweet treats hidden inside those eggs.
My dad never failed to assume that everyone who graced my parents’ table enjoyed cuisine of any kind as much as he did. His response when my mom would ask a guest if they would like pecan or chess pie, was always “Harriet, give them a little of both.” And he, in order to make the guest feel comfortable, I’m sure, would have a little of both with a scoop of ice cream. Friends and family alike always walk into my parents’ home and sneak a peek in the refrigerator or to see what’s on the counter, just hoping to luck into a freshly baked batch of cookies or a huge bowl of chicken salad.
Yes, I know it seems as if my family is obsessed with food, but what I really intend to convey is the idea that expressions of sympathy and expressions of love taking the form of food are something to be understood and appreciated. When we lose someone, whether we have no appetite at first or we feel like consuming the entire homemade, industrial size banana pudding in one sitting, we recognize the empathy and compassion that is the birthplace of food deliveries in times of grief. There is a relationship borne of the feelings we share. Grief doesn’t have to be experienced alone. It can be a communal immersion in something familiar and tied to good memories. It can be around a table or on a picnic blanket, or in the drive-through of a Wendy’s. Grief is something we all experience, so why not experience it in ways that let people love you and comfort you and hold you in their hearts? Why not?
About the Author:
Elizabeth Downing is Director of Outreach for Timesavers Concierge, Caregiving & Chauffeur in Bowling Green, Kentucky. A 1982 graduate of WKU, Elizabeth is also an attorney, but she found her passion in advocating and providing care for older adults and those with special needs. Elizabeth’s blog, at www.mytimesaversky.com/blog, seeks to raise awareness of issues relating to aging and caring for aging loved ones, and to let people know they are not alone in the journey. She has recently completed a Certificate in Care Management from Boston University, and facilitates two family caregiver support groups each month.
