A Casserole Disease

Tonight I delivered a meal

to a friend

She has a casserole disease

But I took her salad, pasta, and dessert.

She can’t even eat it


of the nausea

And she can’t taste or smell or enjoy such simplicity

as a fresh garden salad or spinach and feta stuffed sausage.

We talked. I made small talk. I am terrible at small talk.

But, I love her and I wanted her to know.

So…I listened.

I saw the fear in her eyes, the tremor in her voice, the tightness of her lips-

It pooled in dark circles around her eyes

Those beautiful piercing blue eyes that

Sparkled when she talked about her family

Shone when she shared about her students

And glinted when she was mad or protective.

She is worn. She is spent.

So, I brought her a meal

Not a casserole

Not a cure

Just a meal


A Casserole Disease

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