The healing power of food

Call me a sucker. The way to my heart is through my stomach.

It’s a good thing I’m so easy. I’m convinced that one of the main reasons I am functioning fairly well this week (in between rants, exhaustion and crying jags) is because of all the love in the meals that have been sent our way. And all the care and good thoughts that goes along with its preparation.

It is very healing.

Not to mention, it makes life so much easier, esp. considering how slow and absent-minded I have been.

It’s no secret that Mike was a culinary genius. I have always thought his skill in the kitchen was one of the main ways he stole my heart. Love and creativity seemed to be the magic ingredients in each of his meals.
I feel the same way about each and every one of you who have prepared food, spent time with us, offered playdates, listened to me, sent notes, books, money and more. You’ve stolen my heart from the clutches of despair. Thank you. You give me reason to have hope that somehow, I might survive this. And therefore Marley and Avery will, too.

My main regret so far is that I have not been able to thank each one of you individually. It is not because I am not grateful. Believe me, we are.

Marley said a funny thing the other day. As we were eating a lovely spinach dish in layers of phyllo dough, she said “mom, you’re really getting good at cooking!” I barely had the nerve to admit that I had nothing to do with cooking this wonderful entree.

I knew I couldn’t live up to Mike’s cooking skill. I’m pretty sure I’ll never do as well as you all have done for us over the past month. But it has been truly a lifesaver. And I’ll be forever grateful for all of the cooks who have graced my life.

By the way, if I have a container or pot or other kitchen item of yours, please remind me if you want it back. I have a plastic tub full and have lost track of what belongs to whom.