Sandra stared at the bag of food, it glowed like captured moonbeams, healthy and warm. It reminded her of her chicken gravy oozing over real mashed potatoes. She quietly chuckled remembering Brian’s mashed potato volcanoes erupting gravy lava.

Smashed taters and gravery, the language of food. Sandra laughed out loud in the silent room causing people to skip a beat in their preparations. That’s what Brian called them when he was little—no need to explain it.

When Brian joined the military Sandra was shocked, but she exploded with pride when he became a chef. He called her many times and they would talk about preparing one of her recipes and how he loved feeding his fellow Marines. But he always ended their phone call with him asking her to send some of his favorite cookies.

Sandra, are you ready? The doctor asked. Yes, she managed to choke out as she approached Brian’s bed.

As they removed Brian’s feeding tube, Sandra stood by his side, gently brushing billions of imaginary crumbs from his hair.