When we are emotionally distraught we all do different things to comfort ourselves. Some of us spend time with loved ones, some of us spend time by ourselves. Some of us write, talk, shout, scream, swear. Yet sometimes we still feel helpless.
This past week, dear friends of ours found out that their preschooler has leukemia. Their world has been turned upside down in a way that I cannot imagine. My heart is broken for their wee one and for the pain they, as parents, are going through.
I feel completely and utterly helpless so I find myself in the kitchen doing what I do best: cook. I’ve been cooking a few meals and baked goods to bring to our friends. It’s the only practical thing I can think of doing. Yet I feel that it’s not much, certainly not enough.
At the same time, cooking is, selfishly, my therapy. While I plan and cook, I meditate and think of our friends and channel my energy into something positive. It’s my time to process what’s happening. My way of empathizing though I truly have no concept at all of what they’re going through. The energy I spend making a few meals is absolutely nothing compared to what they face.
So with every knead, simmer, slice and stir, I am thinking of you, Miss Cutie Petootie. You will pull through and we’ll dance and jump and giggle and play together again soon.