To eat, drink, and be merry—that’s what you and I wanted for you. (I found it intriguing when you said the same phrase and I hadn’t even mentioned it to you.) Yet you couldn’t eat much, and in the end, you didn’t drink or eat and merriment was hard to come by. So this month—especially including today—I will do those things for you, to honor you, I suppose one could say. You’d want me to be eating too, and during this month, I can eat for us both.
March would have been the last month that I would have had to pay rent for the place in which I no longer live. I’d applied for a one bedroom but ended up with a two bedroom. So in a way it’s like you moved with me, which had initially been the plan since I had no intentions of leaving you after Dad had died. It’s funny that the lease agreement had a mistake and should have gone on for longer, that I had even pointed it out and was told it would be corrected, but it wasn’t. I thought maybe it might turn out to be in my favor, and when I ended up moving out shortly thereafter, this seemed to be even more so the case. So I had been planning for this month, the end of the lease, to also be a celebration of my freedom from the extra rent—celebrating it and remembering you by getting extra groceries and deviating from my standard of lentils, rice, and beans to enjoy different foods. But the extra financial responsibility ended sooner than expected (day 262) and that incentivized me to commemorate things sooner—intermittent events leading up to The Great Event of March.
Road Trip Sandwiches
Even before I got here (and before tightening the purse strings when I learned of the paycheck deductions), I used food as a way to remember you and Dad both. During road trips, you used to make Dad bologna and salami sandwiches as he drove long distances. Six months ago, I emulated that as I drove here, chowing down on faux deli meat sandwiches that I’d preassembled.
Barbecue Butt Day
In January, I celebrated Barbecue Butt Day by using the oven here for the first time to make barbecue tofu ribs (and butts).
Barbecue Butt Day with tofu butts is fitting because, as you know, I had a phase where I would say “butt” a lot. I could just butt a butt into every sentence, much to your dismay.
Dad’s Birthday
Dad used to buy the three of us pulled pork sandwiches, a whole bagful that we’d eat on for days. Last month I used his birthday as an excuse to splurge on takeout: a pulled pork sandwich1 and a slice of carrot cake1 (one of his favorite kinds of cake). I also got a slice of cheesecake1 as an ode to you. At first I thought the cheesecake was gross and thought about how you would not like it. But the next day it tasted a lot better to me. It made me think of how tastes would change for you; sometimes a certain thing would taste fine to you but then later it wouldn’t.
Heart Day
Right after Dad’s death, your tastes changed and your appetite diminished. As time went on, you lost a lot of weight and less and less tasted right to you. You used to love sweets, but over time, your love for those fell away too. (Additionally, there were things that tasted too sweet, including things that shouldn’t have tasted sweet at all.)
Last year in February, on the way back from your cardiology appointment, I felt I hated myself for giving in to your demand for a burger. Not only did I think that eating out was wasting money (and there was also the chance that you wouldn’t like the food and would throw it out as had happened so often before since your tastes had changed), but I felt getting you the burger went against my sense of ethics, both as a vegan and as a caregiver, especially considering you’d just had a cardiology appointment. In the following days, I came to realize that since you were eating very little, it mattered less what you ate and more that you ate at all. And it must have sucked being hungry yet not being able to eat much because nothing tasted right, and just wanting to enjoy yourself but being unable to.
After we got home from the burger excursion, I didn’t stay mad for long. I asked you how the burger was (It didn’t taste right.) and then we went to the backyard where we talked about how years ago your aunt had died. I said she died of a broken heart and that apparently people really can die of that. You talked about how a person got into a car accident and died in the hospital, and the person’s mother died shortly after her. And then I mentioned how a former therapist of mine had told me that if I died (probably talking about suicide), you would follow me into the grave. And you agreed, saying there would be nothing left here for you. And why shouldn’t I think the same? I thought. If you died, there wouldn’t be much here left for me. If you died, then I’d no longer have to participate in this world.
Anyway, I gave in to your demand again on the anniversary of that day. I got a cheeseburger1 topped with barbecue sauce, bacon1, and onion rings. And fries covered in cheese1 and caramelized onions. Also two slices of cheesecake1 (one chocolate and one New York) that I saved for later (one of them for today). I had ordered a milkshake1 (cookies ‘n’ cream, so it would have had dark specks* of cookies in it) but it was missing when the order was delivered. I did, however, get the Butterfinger1 sundae and that was pretty tasty. I stored the rest of the sundae in the freezer, like you and I used to store cups of soft serve vanilla ice cream in the freezer for you.
*Around the same time, one of the few things you could tolerate eating was vanilla ice cream. One time we ended up getting a brand that had the black specks of vanilla beans in it which made you think of pepper, so you didn’t like eating it very much. Additionally, back when I was super depressed, the Oreo milkshake used to be one of my favorite things to get from Burger King when we were staying out of town with Dad.
Day After Heart Day Day
The day after Heart Day, you were given concerning news about your condition. (It wasn’t a final diagnosis; it confirmed one thing but there was still a peculiar uncertainty.) Though I had saved treats to enjoy on this day (like one of the cheesecake slices and the rest of the sundae that I got on Heart Day), that morning I decided I could get the same kind of shake that was missing from my order on Heart Day. So after work, I walked to the same restaurant I ordered from on Dad’s birthday. I didn’t want it to be the first thing I consumed that day, so I decided I would get some food too. I would try the fried chicken1. Your favorite piece was the wing, but only legs1 and breasts1 were available at this restaurant.
If the shake hadn’t been missing from my order the previous day, I probably wouldn’t have eaten out on this day, and I was grateful for the opportunity. I could imagine taking you out to eat together after being delivered the disconcerting news about your health. And I could imagine that you could actually enjoy the food. One day I had gone out to get you fried chicken as you’d requested, and it didn’t taste right to you.
For sides, I got a salad with what used to be your favorite salad dressing1 (and you used to stop by a nearby convenience store to get a salad from there a lot) and mac ‘n’ cheese1, and mashed potatoes with gravy as an extra. I ate it outside of the restaurant, at a table I found in a secluded corner, which was nice since seclusion seems a luxury here.
I got two extra shakes for later: one Oreo strawberry and one peach. The strawberry shake from a particular restaurant was one of the few things we found that you could enjoy consuming, until you didn’t anymore—that and peaches.
1. The vegan variations are one cool thing about living here.
Festive Feast Month
On the first morning of March, I went out to get some things to kick off the first day of The Event. Doing so helped to shift my depression into cheer.
One of the things I got was peanut butter chocolate cereal. There was one point when you used to really like Reese’s Puffs, and I had been reminded of that when searching the web for accidentally vegan foods. After much deliberation, I’d decided I would get a vegan-er version of the peanut butter chocolate cereal. It was fun to eat; it’s like I’d forgotten how fun eating cereal could be.
Over the next days, I enjoyed going out food shopping and remembering and imagining, and I’ve found the food taking me on trips down memory lane.
For breakfast, you’d often cook bacon and eggs, and something like pancakes, rice, or biscuits. For health reasons, I didn’t like that you ate bacon so often. Now I’ve found some “bacon” that I wouldn’t feel bothered about you eating or about cooking for you. And with these “eggs,” there’s no need to worry about cholesterol. The syrup is sweetened with monk fruit, so no need to worry as much about the blood sugar spike either.
Recently, while walking home after visiting a grocery store (to acquire a pound cake as you liked pound cake), I had an encounter during which I was disturbed by some rando stranger. But I wouldn’t let that occurrence deter me from living my life nor would I let it stop the festivities. The day after, I went on a walk and stopped by a store to get oatmeal cookies. The cookies happened to be in a box like the oatmeal cookies you used to get. When I bit into one, I remembered that you would let yours sit around for some time so they’d get softer. As for me, I just nuked the ones I got in the microwave, which made them not only soft, but warm as well—a delicious contrast to the cold oat milk I washed them down with.
The rest of this month will be a continuation of the festive feast of vegan versions of food that you used to enjoy, food like chicken wings and more macaroni ‘n’ cheese and peach cobbler. You used to like peach cobbler and cobbler in general, and peaches were one of the last things that were still appealing to you.
I spent time trying to find fitting food for this Event. There were limitations of things not being vegan or not being easily available if available at all. At multiple points, I tried to remind myself that it didn’t have to be perfect. It wasn’t about getting a perfect kind or flavor that you’d like, and it wasn’t about getting a version of all of your favorites. It wasn’t about having the perfect meal on the perfect day. Instead, this Event is about remembering and connecting as well as enjoying myself as I wished you could have enjoyed yourself. It’s celebrating your release from suffering and metamorphosing the misery into merriment.
Happy birthday, Mom. You didn’t always enjoy your birthdays, especially in the end. In the end, you suffered a lot, and this last month was not great for you. I can acknowledge that along with the sadness and sorrow that brings. At the same time, I can take the bitter and extract from it something sweet.
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