Grief is unpredictable. In the early days, it is always with you. Later, it washes over you (in “waves” as some people say), and then gradually subsides. In time, it appears only now and then, seemingly out of nowhere, with a bout of teary sadness or a depressed mood. Finally, when you think you have mostly recovered, you find, alas, that grief is still with you, just working more subtly under the surface.
My husband Tim died suddenly and unexpectedly in July of 2024. With the help of grief groups and individual therapy, by the spring of 2025, I felt ready to begin the long, emotional process of disbanding our joint household. Over several months, I gave away, sold, consigned, and donated most of our antiques and collectibles, art, books, furniture, dishes, clothes, and the contents of our three-car garage.
I sold our four-bedroom house on a big corner lot and bought a two-bedroom house with a tiny yard. Into that house I moved only the things I truly loved and needed. I let go of all the rest, including the old kitchen table where we had eaten dinner together almost every night of our marriage.
Still Grieving
With the beginning of the new year, I have been thinking about all that I accomplished in 2025. I am proud of the progress I have made on my grief journey.
However, it also dawned on me that I have spent a great deal of time watching television, especially cooking shows. I typically watch one or two a day, usually while I eat my meals.
I never sit at the table or breakfast bar. I sit on the living room couch in front of the television, plate in my lap, while my cat Zoey watches impatiently from the coffee table, waiting to lick the remains. When I finish my meal, I turn off the television.
A mindless distraction from feelings of loss? Not necessarily. I think that watching these shows is part of my grieving process.
Food is Love
It has been said that “food is symbolic of love when words are inadequate.” Preparing and sharing food is one of the primary ways we show affection for, nurture, comfort, and connect with the people we care about.
This was certainly true for us. Although Tim and I rarely ate breakfast together (he got up much earlier than I did), we always had dinner together, usually at home. I happily did most of the cooking, as he had little interest in that, while he did other chores and helped clean up the kitchen afterward.
Dinner was a time of pleasure, conversation and relaxation. We always set the table with placemats, napkins, good dishes and flatware. We lit a candle and said a blessing. Tim always complimented the food and thanked me for preparing it.
Now, the dinner hour is the loneliest time of the day.
Food Television
So, I fill the void with cooking shows. In America, they are very popular, and there are many programs on multiple networks to choose from.
My personal favorites fall into two categories: demonstrate-and-share shows, where likeable hosts effortlessly prepare sumptuous food and invite you to join them (vicariously) in tasting it, and timed competitions, where contestants prepare designated foods that are judged on taste, creativity, and presentation.
In the first category, I often turn on PBS to watch Kevin Belton demonstrate Creole cooking (“New Orleans Kitchen”); Sara Moulton prepare classic American and international dishes tailored for the average home cook (“Sarah’s Weeknight Meals”); Jacques Pepin share his favorite French recipes and wine pairings (“Heart and Soul”); and Lidia Bastianich create northern Italian dishes for and with her family members (“Lidia’s Kitchen”). Lidia’s signature sign off reflects the convivial nature of these programs: “Tutti a tavola a mangiaere!” (“Everyone to the table to eat!”)
Who wouldn’t want to share a meal with Kevin, Sara, Jacques or Lidia? They make you feel like you are not eating alone but dining with friends!
In the second category, I tune in to the Food Network or Netflix for “Chopped,” “Guy’s Grocery Games,” “The Great Food Truck Race,” and “The Great British Baking Show.” I mostly watch these for the human element. I like to see how contestants express their creativity and passion for food, how they perform under pressure, and how worthy opponents can bring out the best in them (courage, determination, resilience, joy, gratitude).
These shows provide a kind of therapy. A psychiatrist from Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Massachusetts says that competitive cooking shows “are so riveting. . . because they make [us] believe in the possibility of what could be” (“Food Fights. Why We Love Cooking Competitions,” 2023). With hard work and perseverance, people do succeed. Challenges and setbacks become steppingstones to achieve goals that once seemed impossible.
The demonstration shows provide yet another kind of therapy. A clinical psychologist quoted in the same article suggests that they offer a glimpse into an alternative world where life seems more calm and orderly. “When our own lives feel chaotic and stressful, it can be comforting to watch a show where everything is precise, controlled, and seemingly doable.”
The Healing Factor
Through grieving comes healing. Healing is a gradual process that involves, not forgetting, but accepting, adapting, moving on, and finding ways to honor the one we lost and the relationship we shared.
Caring for and nurturing ourselves — including what, where, how, and with whom we eat — is part of this healing process. For theologian and psychotherapist Thomas Moore, when we live our best lives – soulfully – even our meals have a spiritual component (“Food for the Soul,” 2008).
Moore says the following practices can “reanimate” our food with spirit and soulfulness:
(1) Grow it ourselves, or at least become more attuned to where it comes from.
(2) Prepare it at home with care and attention, making cooking a contemplative practice.
(3) Eat mindfully, with pleasure and appreciation.
(4) Share our meals with others whenever possible because “eating together is communion, a comingling of souls.”
(5) Include ritual in our meals by setting the table, lighting a candle, saying a blessing, and using good manners to show respect for those present.
I do well in many of these areas. I have always enjoyed shopping for good food and preparing it mindfully. I sometimes share meals with friends, but I could do this more often. Clearly, though, I have been missing the rituals that make eating a spiritual practice.
It seems the next leg of my grief journey might well involve turning off the television, setting a place at my dining room table, sitting down, and savoring the meal that I have lovingly prepared — for myself.
I could set a place for Tim, too, but I think that would make me feel more sad and lonely. However, lighting a candle and saying a blessing feels right.
It’s going to take some time, though, because I have become attached to my cooking show companions, and I will miss them terribly. Maybe once a month would be more doable in the beginning, striving for once a week some time down the road.
The most important thing I have learned about grieving is to proceed at your own pace and allow yourself grace.
I definitely can do that.
Written by: Ruth Ray Karpen
Ruth Ray Karpen is a retired English professor who now works as a freelance researcher and writer. She has published many books and articles on aging and old age, life story writing, and retirement. In “Smart Things Considered,” she draws on her years of research and her own experiences to explore how later life provides unique opportunities for growth and development if we remain open to learning.
**Article originally published on the website of Smart Strategies for Successful Living at CLICK HERE.
