And a weeping grandmother fill the funeral home with sights and smells
Contradictory to one another.
In one corner, the grandmother is knelt over, muttering words
Of disbelief under her breath.
“Why him?” she weeps to the floor and everyone around her acknowledges
The personal distress she’s going through.

On the opposite side of the parlor,
A table is piled high with traditional Polish foods such as:
Chruscikis, kielbasa, pierogis, and babka.
The sweet and tangy smell
Contradicts the heavy and profound air.
A congregation of people
surround the table, talking quietly while they eat.

The attention of the group was brought to the grandmother once again as
She made her way over to her husband's casket and let out a
Final cry of bewilderment.
Then, she picked herself up from her kneeling position
And ran her bony hand along the long oak box one last time before gently
Closing the lid as if saying ‘goodbye’ for the final time.
With a final glance, she made her way across the room to the crowded table and
Grabbed a plate to fill with various foods.

As the first bite of pierogi danced on her tongue
she was flooded with flashbacks of her husband;
His once red hair vivid in her mind,
His once freckled skin glistening in the sun,
His once boisterous laugh ringing in her ears.

She could see him cradling their daughter
On the first day she came home, swaddled in her
Pale yellow blanket as he whispered lullabies to her,
His beard tickling her cheek and making her smile right
Before she fell into a deep slumber.

She smiled at the thought
And wiped her salty tears on the back of her black sleeve.
She wondered when she would see him again
And prayed simultaneously that it would be soon but
Also in the distant future.

Following the procession,
The congregation moved to the grandmother’s house where
More food was served. They used food as a way to cope with dilemmas.
In times of crisis we pray, we remember, we eat.