Dealing with Death

What does one cook when the phone rings in the predawn hours and a voice from the rehab says, “ No pulse, we tried ? We called rescue. No pulse.” And you say the D. word because the voice will not say it. And the voice says, “Yes, but we tried.” And you wait an hour to tell your beloved husband who is the next of kin who until this one night has been at the bedside of his father. What does one cook? Does one cook? Or does one leave a scribbled note beside the guests’ empty plate, “ I’ve gone to do last rites for my father-in-law.

But last rites are brief and hospitality is long and guests don’t come down before nine. So one stands by the beautiful priest and mumbles the ancient words then one runs home and cooks out of MKR's cookbook. The hands shake but the eggs scramble. And with the biscuits one serves sour orange marmalade which is sharp and sweet like the recently deceased.