I'm an emotional eater. Comfort comes in a plate or a bowl. I'll never lie or deny this problem. After Mom died though, I added to the scope of the problem. Now not only do I eat to deal with grief, but I cook to help others cope.
My sister used to call for backup when she heard me in the kitchen. I'd cook enough casseroles, side dishes and desserts to feed an army. I'd send food home with Dad, feed my grandparents and have family over to eat. It was one thing I could do to fill in for my Mom.
With time, I finally quit having these "fits" (not before perfecting homemade chicken pot pie), but I never quite lost the urge.
So now, with news of a friend's terminal cancer status, I find myself ready to drag out the bowls and pans. In between tears, I told my Dad, "I'll feed them. It's all I know to do." In my mind, what else can you do when a young mother and wife doesn't have much longer here on earth?
So tonight, I'll be making chicken squares, stuffed shells, lasagna, pepperoni rolls and whatever else I can mass produce, because food is how I cope. I'll feed em and hug em, because I know it's what got us through the bad times.
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