On a camping trip to Nakusp, we swing by the Save On to restock our groceries. The list includes cheese smokies. I find the cooler, see the options, and stand paralyzed by indecision:
Brock’s favourite cheese smokies are not available.
It shouldn’t matter. Brock died 23 months ago. I’m here in this grocery store with my son, my boyfriend and his pre-teen. They don’t care what kind of cheese smokies I put in the basket.
But I can’t make myself pick up the ones Brock deemed inferior. It’s ridiculous, and I make fun of myself, sharing the moment with my boyfriend. He gets the smokies so I don’t have to.
Farm wife vs. widowed mom
Not so long ago, a “good meal” meant one featuring ingredients produced by people we knew and our own farm. Brock and I ate mostly organic food, always fresh, seasonal vegetables, and celebrated the sourcing of new “local” ingredients like salt and walnuts. For holiday meals, we happily paid $100 for a fresh-killed, free-range, certified-organic fed turkey from farmer friends.
These days, I budget-shop at No Frills and strive for meals my five-year-old will eat: homemade macaroni and cheese, tacos, carrots on the side. I buy $10 rotisserie chickens.
Old vs. new priorities
ORGANIC
In 2015, we had the largest certified-organic vegetable farm on the south end of Vancouver Island. But these days I rarely buy organic vegetables.
No, my values haven’t changed. I still think organic produce is healthier, want to support organic farms, and prefer to keep chemicals out of our water and soil. I just don’t want to walk the five feet over to the special organic section. My time and energy are limited these days, and organic food is no longer a priority for me.
GOALS
At one time, our goal with food was to shop and eat politically: to support the food producers and farming practices we thought best.
My current food goal is to make proper meals for my son and have sit-down time together while we eat, which is harder than it sounds in our one kid, one adult household.
TIME
When we “retired” from farming and stopped selling at six farmers’ markets a week, Brock and I still made a point of buying most of our weekly groceries at the Duncan Farmers’ Market.
I haven’t shopped at the local (excellent) farmers’ market once in the two years we’ve lived in Invermere. Instead, my son and I spend our Saturday mornings playing Lego and planning our day’s adventures.
SOCIAL
Our friends in the Cowichan were farmers, chefs and foodies. In this new, Plan B life, I’ve collected friends who want to hike, camp, have road trips and say YES to adventures.
The past + the present
I read somewhere (Saturday Night Widows?) that losing your spouse isn’t the end of a chapter: it’s the end of a book. You have to start a whole new book.
The changes I’ve noticed in my relationship with food are just a metaphor for the changes in the rest of my life. My priorities have changed, I’m directing my energy elsewhere, and we’ve physically moved from that agricultural, food-centric world to an adventure-lifestyle-focused community. Instead of riding the tractor or eating sugar snap peas in the field, my son and I hike, camp and kayak.
Yes, it’s silly to maintain brand loyalties that are no longer relevant, to drive around to three different grocery stores to find the Pace medium-heat salsa that Brock liked best, but I like these random tributes to our old life together.
I like hearing his voice when I reach for the Doritos: “Do they have Old Dutch Arriba Nachos here, instead?”
Even though I was surprised by that whole-body paralysis when standing in the cooler section of Save On, it made me happy to remember our family holiday on Chesterman Beach, when Brock’s parents drove the 8 minutes and back to Tofino just to get his preferred kind of cheese smokies, because that was something they could do for their terminally ill son.
And I suppose it makes sense, for a family like ours where food was so very important for almost a decade, that food is part of my grieving experience.
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I’d love to hear your thoughts. If you’ve lost someone you love, do you maintain habits or have specific triggers that remind you of them? How do they make you feel? Please comment, share this post online or read more posts on this website.
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I love the human-ness, the every-day-ness of these observations. “Grief process” is an abstract theory. What you describe is lived experience.
Beautiful, as always. And whether you have realized it or not, you have been creating your own adventure food rituals. ?. Mountain top drinks, tasty chocolate and scrumptious treats. I’d say you are bringing some of the old into the new and I’m so honoured to be a part of it. ❤️
Dear Heather, I read this the same day that I thought a lot about you and food, Strange and amazing serendipity. I used to leave Mermaid Tears kombucha drink at your door in the Fairy Godmother basket. I have not been able to buy or drink it since you left. Today, driving by Greens I thought it was time. So I bought a bottle, got in the car, realized I could not find the key, looked through the store and car in boiling heat, finally found it under seat. Phone rings, drank some of the drink while talking, get off phone to find key gone again. Took another long while, then split drink in car (not mine, Daves, not good) . Realized it was still not time to be drinking that drink, Brock was saying hi, you too, so grief happening here too over food choices.
As always a beautiful and evocative and gut felt piece of writing. Miss you more than words can say.
I came across your blog searching for writing links and read about your tragic situation. I can neither add anything nor understand your pain. I was just wondering if you’ve been able to maintain your other writing and if you have a story in mind for the upcoming CBC Fiction contest. I do believe that writing is cathartic and necessary to navigate difficult times in life.
Thank you for reading and commenting, Paul. In the year since we settled into this Plan B life, I’ve been writing on this website (and on Medium.com), while also working on the second draft of my first ever mystery novel. I haven’t written fiction other than the mystery, although I might return to that genre someday.
I agree that writing is cathartic . This website has helped me work through and share so much of my experience with grief. Thanks again for taking the time to read. I wish you success and contentment with your own writing!