Last night hubs and I found out that an acquaintance of ours had died. He was 33. Acute pancreatitis. They have a 2 year old son. We didn’t know him well, and I know his wife a little better and like her a lot.
I just ache for them both, even though we weren’t close and I wanted to say SOMETHING to express my condolences (and did), but everything I could think of felt like a trite platitude with no real meaning behind it, no matter how well intentioned. “Sorry” is quite possibly the most useless, meaningless, lamest word in our language. And yet what else do we have? We’re thinking about you. We’re praying for you.
This is why I cook. Because sometimes I can manage to say in food what I can’t say in words. I need to make a casserole.