Normal?

Yesterday's wind blew in some cooler temperatures for today. Sweater weather. Early in the morning, the Dutch Valley guy called and I met him at the General Store to pick up the almost ton of human grains, wheat, spelt, rye and other good things to mill into breads and cookies.

Getting ready for market.

Lots going on, list making, drama class, piano lessons. Sort of looks like normal life.

Except I am weepy and cry at the drop of a hat. Don't feel like cooking. At all. Ever again.

The other day I was thinking about how I used to love to cook for Philip. He grew up eating lots of Dinty Moore beef stew out of a can when he wasn't heating up a frozen dinner. Growing up in a broken home with a dad who came home late in the evening on the train meant a lot a fending for himself at mealtime. It gave me joy to make him delicious healthy dinners. We loved lighting candles and eating dinner for hours. The kids might eat their three bites then run off and play, leaving us at the table to catch up. Philip loved everything I cooked for him. He appreciated me. I would hear other gal's stories of their picky, finicky, fussy husbands at table and rejoice in my lot.

I have to learn how to cook for our family without Philip. Some day I imagine I will rejoice in a perfectly pan-seared venison medallion with port and black cherry reduction. But not now.

The other day as I reheated the leftover macaroni from lunch for supper, Rose came up to the oven and reproached me. "When are you ever going to cook us a real supper again, Mom?"

I cried. Gave her a hug and promised that someday I would be ready to cook for them, but now I am barely getting by. I broke down and said yes to the friends who had been offering to bring a dinner. One of our church friends and her husband came out this evening with roast beef and mashed potatoes and salad and pie with ice cream. We sat at the table, the children chattered happily, and consumed the whole feast. We thanked God for our friends, for the food and prayed for our friends in India and Haiti who are trying to rebuild their lives and asked God to provide for them too, just as he is for us.

How to live without Philip? We miss his presence at our table so much. I am now sitting in his spot at the table, with Nora and Rose at either side. The table doesn't feel right.

Nora wondered at table what Dad would be eating in heaven tonight. Some of the kids suggested that he wouldn't eat yet, because it is not time for the BIG FEAST. The others thought he would be having cheeseburgers, since that was one of his favorite foods. I opted to listen and eat my own supper.

Thankfully.

No normal on the farm these days. But life continues to be good. What a paradox.