My grandmother died recently.
The doctors said her 90-year-old body couldn't handle the stress from the emergency brain surgery she had just undergone, but in reality it was just time for her to go.
Before my grandmother, I had never lost a close family member. Her death made me ask myself many questions. Questions such as, "What was the last thing I said to her?" or "Is there really an afterlife?"
Unfortunately, I did not have time to ponder any of these questions because I was bombarded by enough fried foods, dips, snacks and desserts to rival any Iron Bowl Tailgate.
That's right; I was able to partake in one of the South's finest traditions, bringing excessive amounts of food to a grieving family.
Within 12-hours of my grandmother's passing, my kitchen counter looked like the banquet scene from "Hook," only not quite as colorful and with less homeless children.
As I absentmindedly picked at my next-door neighbors world famous carrot cake, I began to wonder why people were flocking to my house to drop off their baked goods.
Right around the time I finished a piece of exceptionally well-made fried chicken, I realized the simplest reason why food is an excellent gift. It was really convenient to have a mess hall's amount of food in our house.
Whenever we were running to the funeral home, or on our way out the door to mass, it was really convenient to have a smorgasbord of snacks to pick from.
And then after long days of funeral planning, it felt amazing to have a home cooked meal without having to do any of the preparation.
All of those people thought to bring over some food because they wanted us to know they were thinking of my
family.
Any great chef will tell you a dish must be prepared with love, so by bringing us a meal, my friends and neighbors were bringing my family a little bit of their love.
All of those lasagnas, soups and pot roasts were a tangible way to measure just how much our acquaintances care for us.
Now that my grandmother's funeral has come and gone, the only thing left to do is to return all of the Tupperware containers to my various neighbors.
Though the food may be gone, I will never forget the incredible outpouring of support I received from my friends, both food related and otherwise.
I also realize I need to get really good at making at least one dish sometime soon.
Should something tragic happen to one of my friends, I would like to bring them a little Southern comfort that doesn't come in a glass bottle.
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