The hospital provided us a copy of the book, Tear Soup before we left. I've found it's words comforting and story very close to home as I travel my own path of grief.
Below are a few of my favorite parts.
Because of her great loss she knew this time her recipe for tear soup would call for a big pot.
With a big pot she would have plenty of room for all the memories, all
the misgivings, all the feelings and all the tears she needed to stew in
the pot over time.
She put on her apron because she knew it would get messy.
It seems that greif is never clean. People feel misunderstood, feelings
get hurt and wrong assumptions are made all over the place.
To make matters worse, grief always takes longer to cook than anyone wants it to.
All she could taste was the salt from her teardrops. It tasted bitter, but she knew this was where she had to start.
And for now, it was the only thing on her menu.
One at a time, she slowly stirred all her precious and not so precious memories into the pot.
There were no words that could describe the pain she was feeling.
What's more, when she looked out the window it surprised her to see how
the rest of the world was going on as usual while her world had stopped.
She found that most people can tolerate only a cup of someone else's
tear soup. The giant bowl, where she could repeatedly share her sadness
in great detail, was left for a few willing friends.
But most of these friends would be history pretty soon. They'll be over my tragedy long before I am.
She knew better than to let anyone tell her what she should do to get through this terrible loss.
Making tear soup is hard work.
Sometimes it was all she could think about. Even the things she used to
love to do, she didn't have the energy for, nor did she care about
anymore.
She knew there were times when she needed to take a break from her soup making. Even though it was hard to do, she forced herself to get away.
...invited her to a special soup gathering where it's not bad manners to cry in your soup or have second helpings.
Some days when you're making tear soup it's even hard to breathe. Some days you feel like running away. You just hope a better day comes along soon. And then comes one of the hardest parts of making tear soup--
It's when you decide it may be okay to eat something instead of soup all the time.
I'll put the rest in the freezer and will pull it out from time to time to have a little taste.
I've learned that grief, like a pot of soup, changes the longer it simmers and the more things you put into it. Iv'e learned that sometimes people say unkind things, but they really don't mean to hurt you.
And most importantly, I've learned that there is something down deep
within all of us ready to help us survive the things we think we can't
survive.
