The Comfort of Ritual

I’ve been reading, little sweetheart, and looking at the illustrations of an artist and author who lost his wife to cancer just a little over a year ago. He has two little girls to raise in her absence and while their grief is palpable and ever-present, there is also a kind of faith and eternal love equally forefront in all his work, as he tells his story day to day.

One recent post that caught my eye was how he had come to enjoy cooking and how it provided a great feeling of comfort. His experience is a bit different than ours - his wife was the cook for many years and it’s only now that he’s taken up the mantel - but the feeling of comfort is the same.

One of my favorite things to do ever was to cook for you. One time when a friend was visiting you here and the two of you were going to go out for a drink for a couple of hours to catch up before returning home, I was just taking dessert out of the oven and putting dinner in. She just looked at you and said “You get to come home to this? You’re so lucky!”.

I think she was wrong, though - I’m the lucky one, little sweetheart. And cooking now, be it for Sylvia or for your parents when I visit them or even just most nights when I’m here on my own, reminds me so much of you, and cooking for you and sitting down with you and having dinner together.

So many of our rituals remain and they comfort me, little sweetheart, in knowing that you are nearer than I can imagine. With all my love forever.