At the beginning of January, our small family of four became an even smaller family of three. My husband and our girls’ father, Michael, had a heart attack and left this realm.
Although the size of our family shrunk, the most miraculous thing happened as the friends we have made over the last thirty years showed up in droves in the days and weeks following his departure. While not biologically related to us, they have become family.
Literally hours after I told a few friends about Michael’s passing, food started appearing at our door. And as I write this, some three weeks later, it is only now beginning to slow down.
While many of the customs and rituals around death and dying have changed or disappeared over the years, one common ingredient remains: the need to connect with the living while honoring the dead. Food is a universal bond that unites us in our grief and in our joy.
I didn’t really internalize what it meant to "eat your feelings" until Michael died. Personally, I find that words are woefully inadequate when dealing with death, so I usually just give people a hug and sometimes cook a dish in the honor of their loved one.
Although our group of friends is not large, they are incredibly diverse and the food has been a reflection of that.
Pho was the first of many comfort foods to grace our home. In fact, it was the first form of nourishment we had that fateful day. Spanish torte, butter chicken with rice, hearty soups and stews, lox and bagels from New York City, and Ruben sandwich fixings from California followed. We dined on fresh baked bread, roasted squash soup, and wonderful desserts with gratitude. The bottles of wine, snacks, plates, napkins, and cutlery were all so appreciated. These helpful, practical acts, reminded us that we are not alone.
Moving forward after an unthinkable tragedy places us all in unchartered territory. We are lucky that those who have ventured into this place before emerged with words of encouragement, support, and guidance. One friend shared that “We all have unspoken, unwritten but deeply understood expectations. It is unmooring to leave them in the dust of your new reality.” One doesn’t move on from grief, we simply move forward.
As Ernest Hemingway once wrote, "The hardest lesson I’ve had to learn as an adult is the relentless need to keep going, no matter how shattered I feel inside…And yet, we endure. That’s the miracle of being human—we endure. Somewhere in the depths of our pain, we find reserves of strength we didn’t know we possessed. We learn to hold space for ourselves, to be the comfort we crave, to whisper words of hope when no one else does. Over time, we realize that resilience isn’t loud or grandiose; it’s a quiet defiance, a refusal to let life’s weight crush us entirely.”
The food our friends cooked, selected, and gifted with love is the foundation of endurance. It nourished not only our bodies, but perhaps more importantly, our souls.
And for that, we are eternally thankful.
Heather McIlvaine-Newsad is a Professor of Anthropology at Western Illinois University. Her research focuses on collaborative action for sustainability.
The opinions expressed are not necessarily those of the university or TSPR.
Diverse viewpoints are welcomed and encouraged.