Cooking
He always cooked the meat—I’m not good at that.
I haven’t cooked in ages. In the first 6 months after Randy died I cooked some for other people—grandkids mostly. But usually I eat a sandwich, cheese and crackers, or I order pizza.
But I have decided to try to stop eating like a 20-something. I buy pasta but eat pizza instead, I buy fruit but eat M&Ms instead, buy the ingredients for lovely cocktails and then drink wine instead.
So tonight I cooked pasta, tossed it with butter and parmesan, listened to my playlist on Spotify, and it was fine. But It’s a shallow echo of my cooking with Randy. He would always do the prep work, we would play music and talk about the day, the news, whatever. It’s not a terribly big kitchen, but plenty of countertop so we could work at the same time. And we would cook as a team—okay, I was sort of the director—and it was a comforting thing to do.
But when I finished eating a wave of grief came over me. I don’t want to do by myself things we used to do together. And then I just feel, How can this be? How can he be gone? I don’t understand why it is so hard for me to take it in, but it’s just devastating when I feel the echo.