Angels with Casseroles

Last week, we received word that Franklin's younger brother died very suddenly.  And very unexpectedly.  Very.

It was hard.

The siblings discussed plans for the service and I committed to the luncheon here afterward.  And, because I am the only one here, committed to programs and the memorial service and house guests.  All in the name of love.

At some time during the week, days before the service, an epic cold knocked on my door.  The kind of cold where you don't care what you look like, you just stick the Kleenex up your nostrils and go with it.   That was me.  Three consecutive days for the worst rain ever, the head cold from hell and I have 60 people coming to my house.  And house guests.  And work.  And my husband is out of town. 

It was after ten pm one night when a friend called me.  "What are you doing?"

"I am in the garage planting pansies for the weekend."

"It is after ten".

"I know, but I need to do it now because I have cooking and cleaning to do."

"Are you okay, you sound funny?"

"No, I am getting sick.  Of course I am getting sick because I have so much to do and my husband is out of town."

That was it, that was all I said.

The next rainy, rainy night, with my sore throat and nose than ran like a faucet, my door rang.  Hot broccoli and cheese soup was delivered to my door.

I personally was going to let my kids eat whatever they wanted and here was homemade soup coming to my door.  And the next night, more food.

And then, on Saturday, after the Memorial Service, Angels with Casseroles appeared.  They came from up the street, down the street and across the street.  Monkey bread for breakfast, beef stroganoff, meatballs, green bean casserole, chicken casserole, you name it, it came. 

It was no secret,  my brother-in-law loved to eat.  He appreciated good food.  And here it was.  In his honor.   Delivered by angels.

As my sister-in-law was going through the food line, she said, "all casseroles are good, they are usually made with love."  I loved that statement.

My brother is one of "those" people who doe not like he food "to touch" and he hates casseroles.  Hates.  I know it is a strong word but he hates casseroles.

My family loves them. 

I couldn't help but think of my mom when I was a kid.  As soon as she got the word that somebody had passed, she was on a cooking frenzy.  I never understood the concept.  Food, at a time like this?  I guess I wasn't a stress eater then.  I am now, I get it now.

It isn't the casserole, it is the love that is mixed into the recipe.  It is the "I know you are slammed and life goes on and you have kids to feed and you have invited people to your house to break bread in the person's honor...and I know you will have my back some day."  And, it makes you feel loved. And it helps in giving your special person a proper send off.  Thank God for Angels with casseroles.