This post feels out of place with the others in the subreddit but I wanted a place to express what I feel inside. My grandmother passed Nov 2024. As far as ends of life could go, one could do worse. She was surrounded by those that love her. It was on her own terms. She was, per her own admission, happy. I spent the better part of the last decade of her life serving as one of her primary caretakers. She had a stroke that rendered her left side paralyzed in 2004. Shortly before I turned 15, my dad kindly informed me that it was my turn - I was to take her and my grandfather to the bathroom, bathe my grandfather, do their laundry, and cook their meals when they wished. I spent the better part of each summer in between then and now learning how to cook *exactly* to her specification. She was South Indian and incredibly particular. Before her stroke, she was an outrageously good cook. She could feed armies on a daily basis and make it look effortless. As a result, she made no attempt to hide disdain for food she did not like. It only took about 4 years for her to stop sending her food back to me, but l learned, little by little. She ate more and more. By the time her health started seriously declining, she had come to actually enjoy my cooking. She would be too weak to eat, but would be quick to tell me that my food was first class.
Segueing to now, I just wrapped up a charity event where I cooked and served ~50 people. I did it all on my own, and quite frankly that shit kinda wore me out. But the compliments I received as I served until sellout were confirmation that the shit I was slinging was fucking gas. I had multiple people return for additional plates, 3 people (Indian women, no less!!) asked me for a recipe, someone told me it was the best food they had ever had, and I was left with empty buffet pans and tired feet (I managed to sell one of the buffet pans? So someone could eat the residue? Lmao). My parents were objectively tickled to hear of the success our family recipes received. But once I got off the phone with my mom I broke down into tears. Let me say I’m definitely tired. But all I can think about is how big my grandmother’s head would have been to hear about how much everyone loved the food she taught me to make. I wish she could’ve lived to see a world where I cooked food she had the strength to eat. I taste her love in every single meal I cook. I just hope she can still taste mine.