Sometimes It’s a Burnt Sweet Potato Day

First, I want to thank so many of you who reached out to me via my blog, newsletter, and social media, sending your love and caring thoughts as I navigate my new reality without Rich. I am so grateful for all your messages of support and encouragement.

Next, I thought I’d give you an update on my One Little Word: Healing. This post is about the yin and yang of my journey. Specifically, in the area of cooking, which has been a metaphor for my healing process. AKA “It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.”

For our family dinner on New Year’s Day, I planned a pork tenderloin. Notice, I said planned. My daughter-in-law Rachel took pity on me and implemented the plan. I had everything ready to go. The pork was nestled in the crockpot. The crockpot was set to low. I was figuring out what liquid to add. This is where my dithering began. In my defense, holidays were tough.

Rachel said, “I’ll make the broth.”

When it was time for me to prepare the potatoes, Rachel offered to check on the pork. It was raw. She felt the crockpot. I’d never plugged it in. We all doubled over laughing, and I’m certain Rich was laughing with us.

But remember—yin and yang. I’d spent that morning preparing a vegetarian dish of acorn squash stuffed with quinoa, pepitas, chickpeas, garlic, spices and goat cheese. I even toasted the pepitas myself. This dish was FANTASTIC! I forgot to take a picture of the lovely acorn squash all prepared and looking gorgeous. But I took this photo after I cut off some for myself.

Last night’s menu was a hamburger, corn, and a sweet potato. I was going to cook the sweet potato in the air fryer like Rich always did, but it was already 4 p.m. My nap time. I decided to microwave the sweet potato later while I sautéed the burger. Siri told me five minutes in the microwave would do it.

The stench of burnt sweet potato lingers in my microwave still tonight. This sweet potato would have made a good doorstop or the keystone on the corner of a new building. It was so petrified, I couldn’t cut it with a knife.

When I told my daughters, they said to just text “having a burnt sweet potato day,” and they would know what I meant.

Thus, the metaphor of my grief journey. Sometimes I am peaceful and accepting. Other times, my heart is rock solid with grief that nothing can penetrate. But you know what? I see everything as a gift, even my crying spells. Those tears honor the memory of Rich and the love we shared. And in the peaceful times, I’m beginning to be able to laugh again.

How can you help you ask? Send me easy recipes with detailed instructions. Like “plug in the crockpot.”