Tuesday, May 4, 2010


I have been feeding a man who is mourning an awful, untimely death. During times like this, it's strange the way every day things fall away & everything is dwarfed by the hole that is left when someone departs. That feeling of being scooped out, your insides a hollow shell that must continue to trudge through the day. There is also that feeling of watching someone you love who is hurting - a feeling of helplessness. All I know how to do is be there. And feed him.

And the tricky thing with feeding the broken hearted is that there is no desire to be fed. The pit in the stomach does little for the enjoyment of food. But the gnawing hunger on top of that pit only makes it worse. However, I have seen something: It seems that when you can't bring your self to move, and when the loop of memories & thoughts won't turn off, there is something to be said for stopping to take something into the body that will nourish & strengthen.

When there are no words that need to be said, a simple bowl of scrambled eggs, or a plate of spaghetti & meatballs, or even a coffee cup full of Mocha Almond Fudge ice cream can begin the process of healing an un-healable wound. The mind must shift to taste & texture, making room around the pain and welcoming the true meaning of "comfort food".

Once again, I am grateful for the role of food. As distraction, comfort, and nurturing - to fill the pockets of grief that words, embraces & even love can't reach. And I am grateful for swigs. For something that can be lifted in salute to the fallen, in remembrance.

Cheers to DB and those who loved him.

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