I don’t know how I’m going to write this piece. I don’t know what I’m going to say.
It has been swirling in my head and my gut for more than a week. Two days ago, the post I thought I was going to write — about light and connection, gathering and laughing together — changed into something else entirely — about darkness and loss, gathering and crying together — and I am once again in a place without words.
The only thing I know how to do is begin.
We have been traveling all summer, filled with experiences we will never forget. I have been speaking at a number of conferences across the country; I have been moved by every one of them. There was an incredible barbecue lunch in Austin, laughter and pretending to burp with Carol Blymire in Washington D.C., connections with people in the food world who have informed my cooking for years, airplane rides with Lu, warm nights, long talks, and incredible meals. Just this week, I was in San Diego for two days, to speak on a panel with Brené Brown, Gretchen Rubin, and Mr. Lady. It was a quietly profound experience. Truly. (And if you haven’t seen Brené’s Ted talk, you might want to stop reading and watch it now.)
I’m feeling particularly grateful for my life right now.
However, all year long, the conference we most wanted to attend was the Big Summer Potluck. Run by our friends Pam, Maggy, and Sharon Anderson of Three Many Cooks, this blogging conference was not really a conference. It was a gathering. These three women know that the best conversations can happen over food — in the kitchen, at the table, and even scraping food off the plates while doing dishes. In the midst of the deafening roar that the internet can be, these friends wanted to gather good people and start conversations.
I was honored to be asked to be one of the keynote speakers. But even more than that, I didn’t want to miss this gathering.
Danny and I felt particularly happy that we were asked to come up to Bucks County, Pennsylvania a day early to help cook and bake for the festivities. We had been in New York for a couple of days — I threw Danny a surprise birthday party in Central Park, at Strawberry Fields — and loved the insistent rhythm of that city once again. But when we walked into Pam’s spacious home, we both breathed deeply. Time to get into the kitchen.
Stevie Wonder played loudly. Pam fried tortillas in a big roasting pan on the stove. She planned to serve them with the crazy-good seven-layer dip she was making for the opening party that night. Danny chopped scallions so quickly and neatly that Sharon stopped what she was doing to say, “Whoa.” Pam’s assistant Kirsty ran around the room calmly, organizing and opening boxes, making things happen. I stood to the side of the kitchen, measuring flours and making dozens upon dozens of muffins for the breakfast the next day. Sizzling onions, wafts of cilantro, toes tapping, and the open kitchen humming with work — every action felt necessary.
And on the other side of the room, Maggy held Lu in her arms, then threw her up in the air. The giggles matched the rhythm of the music, of the sizzle, of the movement of our hands.
Everything was light.
That night, 60 women and men descended upon the house, eager for conversation and laughter. I’ve never been to a conference set in someone’s home. We all felt welcome.
That amorphous group quickly became clutches of familiar faces, then particular people who will stay in my memory as joyful and open. It didn’t take long to make friends.
The next morning, we gathered at Linden Hill Gardens, a lovely enclave of green and ponds with giant goldfish (that was Lu’s favorite part). The conference breakfast? Muffins, Irish soda bread, yogurts, granola, juices, and coffee. We stood in the sunshine talking, eating good food.
It all happened to be gluten-free. (More on this in a moment.)
And then we gathered in a barn, a beautiful reconstructed barn with wooden rafters, hay bales covered in cloth, and light streaming through the windows that made everyone pick up cameras and realize it was impossible to capture it. We all tried anyway.
I spoke in the morning, about writing. About vulnerability and not knowing, about playing and making connections. I talked about mistakes I have made and how I don’t believe in mistakes anymore.
I said what I truly feel: we could all learn tricks about optimization and monetization to drive more visitors to our blog, in order to become successful according to some pre-conceived notion of what we should be doing. But to me, optimization and monetization are not real words. And they are certainly not why I write this site.
I don’t want visitors to this site. I want readers.
(Thank you for being here.)
There have been plenty of people writing about the effect that talk had on them. You’ll have to find them yourself if you are interested. I would feel like a jerk linking to them. Just know that I was so happy to be there. So happy to be here.
My friend Penny de los Santos spoke in the afternoon about photography. Do you know Penny’s work? If not, I encourage you to look at her photos. The woman vibrates with life. If you’ve heard Penny talk, you’ll know what I mean. She’s so raw and there, grateful to be part of people’s lives, even if for only an hour to make those photos. Penny understands food is an expression of culture, a chance to gather, a constant surprise. She is a constant surprise.
After she spoke about her experiences of traveling to over 30 countries to make photographs for Saveur and National Geographic, people wiped tears off their cheeks. Penny didn’t talk about her resume. She spoke straight from her heart about the awesome honor of stepping into someone’s life and capturing a moment. A single moment.
That’s all we have. The moment.
(Danny and I can hardly believe our good fortune. Penny de los Santos will be shooting our next cookbook.)
After all those connections, there were tears. “A good cry,” as Danny likes to say. Why were people crying?
I feel like we live in an increasingly loud world, a world of emails, text messages, Twitter conversations, horrifying stories about riots in London and economies teetering, bad news, ugly news, 24-hour bad and ugly news. It’s all too much sometimes. In such a tumbling terrifying world, we clutch onto these notions of perfection and success to make ourselves better. “If only I get my website a better Google ranking, then I’ll feel like I’m doing my work in the world.” Or more Twitter followers. Or more money. Or a clean house. Insert your favorite phrase in that sentence and see if you haven’t said to yourself sometimes. We all do.
But what happened in that barn was quiet. It was connected. It was about listening instead of shouting. It was about imperfections and dancing with them. It was such a relief. No wonder there were tears.
After that kind of connection, there was only choice. We ate.
Early in the process, Maggy decided to make Big Summer Potluck entirely gluten-free. It’s not just that I was speaking there. Quite a few people attending were gluten-free. Since Maggy and I are friends, she knows how great gluten-free food can be. (Hint: it doesn’t have to be about the baked goods.) So she sent out a message to everyone attending: if you’re going to bring food to the potluck, make it gluten-free. She asked me to write up a little one-sheet on how to avoid cross-contamination. And she asked people to remember: bringing food to other people isn’t about impressing them with your fabulous recipes. It’s about connecting.
They did it. Over 60 people made food — peach conserve, fruity margaritas, bean salads, pasta, vegetarian lasagna — and made it gluten-free. No one complained. It was all delicious. No one grew sick.
Geri from Cherbourg Bakery drive 14 hours from Ohio, with two little kids, to bring gluten-free baked goods to people. And they were delicious, especially those lemon bars.
That’s the kind of spirit that gathering over food can create.
As much as I love food, I love people more.
I believe in the goodness of people, in spite of it all. Last weekend, in that barn in Ottsville, my faith in humanity was restored once again.
There’s Marisa, whose website Food in Jars has become one of my favorite. That smile of hers. On the top right is Justin, who is our book editor. (He spoke with Pam on a panel about the publishing industry.) He is a tremendous editor. He’s an even better person. I feel really blessed that he and I have become good friends through this process. He keeps changing my life. Winnie, in a moment of real vulnerability just after my talk, opened everyone’s hearts in that barn. Thank you, Winnie. And Sharon. Oh, how Lucy loves Sharon.
I wish I had photographs of everyone who came to Big Summer Potluck. Thank you, all.
photo courtesy of Brian Samuels of A Thought for Food
There’s one person who attended who is especially dear to us. That’s our wonderful friend, Jennifer Perillo.
As you can see, Lu adores her. She followed Jennie around, calling her name. However, because she’s three, she can’t say it right yet. Quickly, everyone at Big Summer Potluck began calling her “Pelillo! Palillow!” She beamed. This women loves people and the possibilities in food. And she loves our girl.
On Sunday morning, rather than going to the final breakfast, we climbed in Jennie’s car and drove with her from Pennsylvania to Brooklyn. In those two and a half hours, we talked about our lives, our loves, our laughing memories of the weekend. Jennie and I met through blogs and Twitter. We’ve become dear friends in real life in the last year. Thank goodness. However, we’re always talking on the phone or talking fast at conferences. This drive was a long, loping time to talk. I asked her about how she met Mikey, her darling husband whom she adores. She told me the story of how they met when she was 21 and they have been deeply in love for the past 18 years. It’s her story. Suffice it to say, these two have it. They know what’s important.
We stopped at the farmers’ market in Carroll Gardens and bought fresh eggs, local bacon, a big watermelon, ripe tomatoes. Jennie makes everything from scratch. She buys all her meat directly from the farmers. She’s like Laura Ingalls Wilder with a Brooklyn accent and sunglasses on top of her head.
After shopping, we stepped into her apartment. Her girls — 8 and 3 — were there and Lu just beamed to see them. Mikey greeted us graciously. His Sunday had been hijacked by our plans but he didn’t mind. On a warm morning, we sat on the back patio and talked while the girls in their swimsuits splashed in the plastic pool. We ate scrambled eggs, bits of bacon, slices of tomatoes, and thick slices of fresh watermelon so sweet and juicy our arms were covered in drips of red. The big pot of coffee slowly emptied as we talked for hours, relaxed and laughing.
Danny and I felt so welcome there.
In the afternoon, we piled our suitcases into Jennie’s car. We thought she was driving us to the A train stop, where we’d catch the subway to the airport. As we pulled away, she whispered to me, “Actually, I’m driving you to the airport. Mikey insisted. He wouldn’t let you take the train.”
And so we drove onto the expressway, laughing and talking more, shaking our heads at Mikey’s kindness and the kind of connections that come through food.
* * *
This is where I hoped to end this post. I had no idea I would have to write this sentence.
Mikey died two days ago.
He died of a sudden heart attack. No warning. After he collapsed, Jennie ran to him, but there was no chance to say goodbye.
I don’t know what to say.
FUCK keeps coming up. But that doesn’t do it. NOT FAIR! shouts itself as well. But when is death fair?
There are no words for my friend’s grieving, the enormous loss that is at the heart of her life right now, as well as her daughters’.
And for once, I don’t have an ending to this piece. Nothing that ties it up neatly and makes me feel good.
All I know is that in the midst of all that darkness, there still has to be some light.
As you can imagine, there has been an outpouring of grief and concern since the word got out on Twitter that Jennie’s husband had died suddenly. So many of us have been shaken by this, feeling her pain, imagining our own. In the words of my friend Erika:
“Those who are local are gathering together to provide home-cooked meals, greenmarket shopping supplies, etc. And for those who are far away—and may I say how quickly the friends from BSP2 have come forward with such willingness and eager, open hearts—so many are now on a list that I’ve compiled for a weekly care package program to send Jennie and her girls their love through the food they make in their homes. We now have enough people to send something each week well into the end of the year, without even starting on a second rotation. The list keep growing.I’m trying to space the package deliveries weekly (one can only eat so much jam) so that Jennie will continue receiving these little reminders of love and support from all over the country for an extended period of time. I know there is usually a flood of well wishes and support in the early weeks, but she’ll need that too the weeks and months after.”
In the meantime, a few of us are putting plans into place to set up a fund to help Jennie and her girls. I will keep you posted.
Maybe that’s the only light in all of this. The gathering.
Update: Thank you to everyone for your kind words here. It really is about the gathering.
I don’t know how she did it, but Jennie put up a post about Mikey. And she’s asked everyone who can to make a peanut butter cream pie in his honor for Friday. We will be.
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{ 147 comments… read them below or add one }
Thank you for the beautiful post, and for your talk at BlogHer.
I follow both you and Jennie on twitter. Thank you for this.
Oh, Shauna. I am so very sorry.
and my heart breaks …
my deepest sympathies go out to Jennie and her precious girls …
Beautiful, Shauna. Thank you.
Really beautiful.
What a beautiful story of the importance of living your life with passion and grace, one hand clutching joy, the other clutching sorrow.
Thank you for sharing your life–the good, the exciting, the real, the painful, all of it. So many of us have experienced this loss like this, way earlier in life than we expected it. And it’s so hard to articulate anything in the midst of it all. These posts where you are searching for how and what to share are as valuable, if not more, than those with recipes and lyrical language. Somehow, Shauna, you do what many of us attempt to: you make the Internet a community I want to live in. Many prayers and thoughts for you and Jennie’s family.
Wow, I am crying right now and I have never been moved so much by a piece of writing as I have been by this post. I want to say that my thoughts and prayers are with you, your friend, her children and everyone else that knew Mikey. I am teaching a class this week to other teachers and I am going to share with them how precious every day is. My heart goes out to everyone!
I cried while I read this Shauna. Even though I already knew how it ended, I wanted to pretend for a moment that it would end differently … It’s the paradox of life being incredible and magical and sucking in the worst possible way imaginable, simultaneously. I’ve always hated that, but life never seems to care.
The light is the community.
Even in the darkest, heart-breaking, most awful moments we get to be held, nurtured and loved by our peeps and to borrow their strength and their belief that we will survive.
I don’t know Jennie, but I’ve been following her through her blog and Twitter for some time. Her loss has affected me immensely, even though we’ve never met. To lose someone so young, so vibrant…it just pulls at my heartstrings. This is a beautifully written post, Shauna. You sound like a true friend to her.
Oh God….I’m sitting here with tears streaming down my face. My husband, the love and light of my life, died the very same way in 2006. I was 48 when we married and he was my first (and only) husband. We only had four years together. When I hear things like his, the pain comes back to stab me in the heart. Jenny…I’m so sorry. I know how this feels My heart breaks for you. The only thing I know to do is cry for you and send every bit of comfort I can muster your way. Let people hold you, lean on your friends and family. Cry…scream….hold on to those kids. You’ll be in my thoughts.
Shauna and Danny – your pain screams throughout your blog. I had friends like you two when I went through this. Thank God you’re there for Jenny. You’re both good people.
My love and condolences to all of you,
Lynn
I also lost a loved one to a suden heart attack, no warning, no chance to say good bye. This November it will be 7 years since I lost my dad. It took my mom about 5 years to sort of recover, but then again, after over 30 years together, it seems like a fair amount of time, don’t you agree? All I can say is I’m sorry, and I understand, and my heart goes out to Jennie, her girls, her family, her friends and to anyone who was ever touched by Mikey. Time heals, so be patient.
Beautiful to read, I’m so many ways, Shauna. I don’t have the eloquence you do and would not be able to convey all the meaningful messages as you have, in this post. Thank you for sharing your gift.
So beautifully written, and I am with you FUCK. FUCK things like that. FUCK that it happens to such good people.
Wishing Jennie nothing but comfort and peace at this time.
BSP seems like just yesterday, yet so much has happened since we gathered. My heart is breaking for Jennie. Like you, I wish I knew what to say, to do. I hope she knows that we are surrounding her with love.
Thank you for sharing this, and for helping to spearhead the effort to help Jennie and the girls.
I’m sorry I haven’t been over to your blog in a while and realized I have you on RSS and forget to look. But, today I came and I’m stunned to hear this news. Saddened and stunned but gratful to see how you told the story. I do come to read not visit.
As with everything, there is always light and there is always dark. Balance comes from acknowledging both. Sometimes when the light seems small and far away, it’s purpose is to guide you out of the dark. Most often, the light is love. The dark, a love lost, the light, the love of friends and family. In the darkest moments, light can be found, if you allow it to find you. Love and time will ease the pain. Sometimes when we can’t see the light, we just need to turn around or open our eyes. Jennie, may you find the refuge and strength you need to heal and recover. May the “gathering” be like a warm coat that protects you from the elements until spring arrives, sending love…………………..
Oh, Shauna… bitter and sweet. Happy and sad. Yin and yang. Life is so that. How old are Jennie’s girls? I would love to send them books. Signed to them. Can you message me their names, ages and address? And big hugs and kisses to you, Danny and Lu.
This is truly a beautiful post Shauna.
I don’t know Jennie, mutual friends do, but I saw this news last night on Twitter. I am so incredibly devastated for her and her girls and I cannot stop thinking of them. I would love to help out in ANY WAY I can. Please keep us posted. I am thinking of her so much and praying for peace.
Sending her so much love.
-Allison
Grateful. And hugs. I wish I was there to hug you in person. You are doing a mitzvah and it will make a difference – all that love matters.
When I found out I don’t think I breathed for a whole minute. It is the worst kind of shock when someone dies so suddenly. One thing I learned from my loss in January is that there is nothing anyone can say to make it better in that moment. But my best friend who lost her mother did said to remember that it will get easier. And I held onto that thread every day until I could breathe a little better.
I completely agree with you, Georgia. There is absolutely nothing anyone can say to make it better, however much we desperately search for those words in that moment. From my own experience of loss, it’s very true — it won’t always be so unbearably painful. Things will never be the same but it’s not impossible to learn to smile again and, as you so perfectly said, breathe a little better.
What a beautiful post, Shauna.
I was so moved by this post. You write so beautifully ! I met you and Jennifer, together with Domenica and other food greats at the “Eat Write Retreat” in D.C. last May. I can’t forget how kind and supportive you were to my questions at the panel discussion (i.e. Filipino cooking, etc.). And Jennifer was soooo lovely and caring with her suggestions and encouragement. I will never forget the heartwarming feeling you all gave me. Yes, I would like to get involved and help out in my small way. Please do keep us posted on Twitter and anywhere else we can get the info. Thanks for sharing, for your sensitivity, creativity and goodness. Keep inspiring us, please …don’t ever stop doing that !
I’m so sorry about the loss of your friend. There’s just nothing to say to fill an emptiness like that. I wish you and your friends all the healing and hopefulness to continue on to those good and bright moments. There will be more.
Words cannot possibly express how moved and sorry I am by the loss this post shares.
Thank you for sharing the joy and darkness. It is what life is all about.
Much love to Jennie, her family and friends.
Beautifully written, Shauna, as always. My children are looking at me…wondering why I am crying. While I was reading this, I thought to myself….”hmm…..sounds like us”. I met my husband when I was 17 and we have been married for 17 years…soul mates. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain your friend and her girls are going through. ‘Sorry’ seems so insignificant…..my heart goes out to Jennie & her family.
For the first time since I was born, the saying ‘there are no words’ seems appropriate and applicable. Thanks for writing this. For giving me a glimpse into a man who loved a woman and his children. For letting us all heal just a little bit.
My thoughts are with her and the kids. And they’ll always be that way.
Really beautiful writing, Shauna, as always…
My thoughts and prayers are with Jennie, her girls, and all the extended family and friends that love her and loved her husband. Sometimes the universe has no explanations (as frustratingly maddening as that is), especially at times like these when so much is happening to tear people apart. Thank you for trying to articulate through this.
I have tears dripping. But I know that there is always light amidst the darkness. Unfortunately we wouldn’t appreciate the light without the darkness. Darkness sucks. But I have found it to be necessary in the scheme of things.
You are a light. I am so thankful to have met you.
Jennie is a light. I am so thankful to have met her too. And now her flame needs to be protected…and fanned and encouraged.
Thank you for writing this beautiful post.
Hugs.
Now you’ve got me doing it. Crying. This post, all of it, even the saddest part, is such an affirmation of life and what is important in it. I haven’t read anything as touching and heartfelt as this in a very long time. My heart breaks for Jennifer even as my spirit soars at the thought of all those care packages, and all the love, coming her way. Life is, and people are, good.
It’s all so heartbreaking. I hope everyone finds the light.
As Erika said, it is most important to keep the support going. The hardest times are yet to come in the months and months ahead.
Much love to you and Danny is your own sorrow too.
I have been in tears for Jennie and her girls for the past two days. I’ve only “met” her once, but we are Twitter neighbors, sharing dinner plans, inviting each other over to share food, knowing that, at least while we’re across the country, the invitation can only be accepted in spirit. The warmth of her love for Mikey was so apparent in her writing, and I can only imagine what she is feeling now. I’ve been calling Ken every few hours while we’re both at work just to say “I love you.” You can never say it enough, you know?
so tragically sad… peace, comfort and hope to her, you and all whose hearts work to mend themselves after this loss.
Shauna – you have a gift. The gift to share, the gift to heal with your words, and the gift to bring people together, even through the web.
Thanks for sharing this post.
Please email me at chef at suvir dot com and let me know how I can help.
Wish you and yours much light always, even when darkness hits, I hope you will always find the light that is there, and certainly follows.
With condolences, respect and warmth –
Suvir
Thank you for such a beautiful post. When I came to the end I was reminded of the kindness and generosity of some of my mom’s family friends. My mom was a newly single parent of 4 and times were really tough. We received a large care package of goodies (by someone we had never met) sent to my mom to help her feel like she wasn’t alone. It made me feel very special and I’m sure my mom appreciated the support in such a difficult situation.
These words are far more beautiful than I could ever string together. My heart just hurts for Jennifer and her girls. Thank you for sharing such beautiful memories and thoughts with us.
I have no words. My heart aches for Jennie, and this piece brought me to tears. Its absolutely unfair. And I feel so helpless. I would do absolutely anything to take away her hurt, but I know that nothing can.
This is so heartbreaking to hear. I know exactly how it feels to have someone you have loved so dearly taken from you so suddenly. My own father passed away suddenly from a heart attack, no signs as well, on my 16th birthday. Unfortunately, I was also the one to find him. The second you realize you have lost someone in your life is the absolute hardest feeling you will ever know. All my thoughts and prayers go out to her and her family at this incredibly hard time. There is so much you wish to say to someone, yet there are simply no words to express the grief and sympathy we feel. You wrote a beautiful post about the experience you shared. Thank you for sharing this with us.
Thank you for the beautiful words. I’m glad you spent that beautiful day with Jennie’s family and hope we can find light in moments of darkness. Big hug to you and your family.
SO not fair!!
My heart goes out to Jennie & her girls, & to all of you who knew & loved Mickey! Many, many blessings!
You know, Shauna, it’s those moments of connection that you spoke of that I keep thinking of. I’d never met Jennie in person until BSP, though knowing “of” her for a while. She and I prepared dinner’s salad together that afternoon, and easily struck up a conversation. And I saw someone I would be so happy to hang with – to cook more with. I saw that light you spoke of. I am praying for Jennie and her girls pretty much non-stop. But the one thing I’m praying for most of all? That Jennie’s able to keep hold of that light through all this darkness. Even a tiny spark. For her girls. For herself. I hope we can all help her to hold on to it.
The light is in Jennie’s smile and the gaze of your beautiful girl.
Such a beautiful, heartfelt post, Shauna. I read it twice and tweeted it. Thank you.
I had not met Jennifer but hope to. I watched the video on her site with Mike dancing with one of her daughters. What an enormous loss.
You and Danny must be in such shock after spending time with him so recently. XO
p.s. Congratulations on having Penny shoot your book. Fantastic news for both of you!
FUCK is right. It is so right.
Thanks to you and Erika for organizing something. I’m happy to help locally and emailed E. Even though I’ve only met Jennie a few times, through her blog and Twitter I feel like I know her family well. And my heart aches for them. So I’m very grateful that there IS a way to reach out and help.
I have been haunted by her first tweet that night… and am saddened beyond words. Thank you for being such a good friend – it fuels all of us. xo
you said it just right shauna. we can all remember how precious life is on a DAILY BASIS to properly honor mikey & all our friends who passed away after an all too brief life. im remembering my dear friends & family channing, cassie & lewis here too. i hope we all adjust our perspectives to respect their memory by living our lives to the fullest, because we can. prayers to jennifer & her girls.
I had a feeling from word one where this was going….because I lost my dearest, best, part-of-my-insides friend at 31, just a month after her wedding, of a sudden heart attack. I know very well that feeling of shock, of having the wind not knocked, but SUCKED out of you, of life never, ever being the same. It never will be.
And I hope this comes across in the spirit I intend, which is not to take away whatsoever from the raw pain that all who loved Mikey must be feeling now…but yes, there is so much light still there, that can’t be felt right now, and down the road. For me, it used to feel like a separate thing from the darkness, but no more. Blessings to all of you and wishing you presence and comfort in your shock and pain.
Words can’t even begin to express how beautiful that is. It’s touching and heartfelt, I’m totally crying here.
What a moving tribute you’ve created to a lovely couple. Friends. Once again an example of how food brings people together and eventually heals wounds and a reminder to live life to it’s fullest.
Shauna,
I am one of your twitter followers, I have your first book and desperately need to catch up on your blog. I became interested in Jennie’s story when I was reading your tweets yesterday. Truly heartbreaking. Your post was beautiful. Although I do not know Jennie and her family, we are a part of the bigger community of humans, mothers, wives, amazing women. I send blessings of love and support to her and her family, as well as you and your family as you get through this dark time.
oh goodness…each day is a gift. It’s easy to forget that.
xo Jana
This is so tragic, and moved me to tears. I will be thinking of your friend & her family. I do appreciate you writing such a warm and heartfelt post, so full of life, to show that our emotional beings are so much stronger than our physical ones.
I don’t know what to say. Reading her tweets and your story reminds me how quickly things come and go. But your love for her and between your families knows that we can lift each other up.
What a wonderful writing Shauna! Having lost a friend in sudden way just a few months ago I understand the rush of emotions that come along with it. I don’t know Jennie, outside of the Twitter world, but my heart breaks for her, her daughters and her close friends and family who are bearing this burden with her.
What a beautiful piece.
{{HUGS}} there is no pain greater than that of the loss of a loved one.
This post is a light in the darkness. I sit here in tears for so many people I have never met. Your writing brings light to so many people and you open your heart and soul to each of us who are ‘readers’ of your blog each week. It is evident through the posts on this blog that you are incredibly compassionate and surround yourself by those that are compassionate as well. This fact will always bring more light in times of darkness. I will be holding a special place in my heart and thoughts for Jennie’s family and for all those who need help finding more light in the overwhelming darkness.
I just read your post and can’t stop sobbing. I’ve been shaken ever since I heard the news. My heart just breaks for her and her girls.
Thank you for writing, and for organizing care for her, especially well into the year so that she can continue to feel all our love and support.
Condolences to you and Danny, and Jennie and her family. If I take one thing from your post, well probably more then one thing….Through the work that you do, you are bringing people to your community. It is clear that authentic relationships are few and far between, and once we find one, it is so hard to let go. My heart is with you all during this difficult time.
I always look forward to your posts, Shauna. I’ve found recently though that I’ll leave the newest post to itself, waiting, until I have a few calm and quiet moments. Your words always speak so deeply.
When I first went gluten free, I started searching sites for all the answers. Some of them were quite disheartening; learning to bake without wheat was like learning to walk all over again. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for your site to come up in my searches. I’ll never forget that first post: the Super Bowl party, how neither of you really knew what people traditionally ate at those kinda things. So you just made a bunch of stuff that sounded good to you. And it worked. In a drizzly February, your words were filled with such WARMTH. And there, at the top of the page in gentle italics, the simple word ‘Yes’.
Yes. I will get through this.
YOU are the light in the darkness, Shauna. Shit happens, to everyone, and always at the worst of times, and sometimes ‘Fuck’ really is all you can say in response. But then we’re reminded, by people like you, that life will indeed go on. We can make it with the love and support of our remaining friends and family and community. We will make it.
Yes.
I have been crying for 2 days for a person that I do not know. I have followed her on Twitter, and I respect her, but I do not know her…and yet, I keep crying. Maybe it’s because I never got to say “goodbye” to my father and my surrogate father….maybe it’s because I have a daughter, and I know just how much her life would be devastated if her daddy died suddenly, without warning.
My heart goes out to her and to all of her friends that I’m sure are grieving deeply. Hugs to all of you…you’ve touched my life and I hope that you don’t mind me offering my sympathy.
Thank you for such a beautiful post. I can not recall a post anywhere, ever, that I enjoyed reading as much as this one…so thank you.
I only know Jennifer through her blog, her work and her tweets…all of which I have come to enjoy so much over the past year.
When I saw her tweets yesterday I cried for her. I thought about Jennifer and her girls all day long. I woke up in the middle of the night last night and couldn’t fall back to sleep. I instantly began thinking of Jennifer again, praying that she was able to sleep and that in the days, weeks and months ahead, “life” and “living” would get easier. I looked over at my husband who was fast alseep and got up to check on the kids.
Like I said, Jennifer does not know me, but as a mother of two little ones who is madly in love with food, family and life…I feel like I know her. (I think we all do.) I weep for her. I pray for her. I wish her and her girls continued inner strength and blessings every single day …for the rest of their long and beautiful lives….
So so lovely and poignant. Jennifer is so lucky to have friends like you in her life; you are her light in the darkness.
Sometimes there are no words…simply silence and a tremendous amount of emotion. My heart goes out to all of you. May your light and connection shine and help lead you from this place of darkness together, strong and whole.
Beautiful post, Shauna… I think you captured the spirit of BSP perfectly, and also put into words how we are all feeling with the sudden and horrifying news this week. Jennifer has been a great friend and mentor to me since I started writing a few years ago, and my heart just breaks for her and the girls. As you said, though, I am finding some comfort in the fact that I know the community will gather around her and make sure that she is OK. That’s what it’s all about.
Thank you for this Shauna. You’ve made me smile (your description of BSP2 is so beyond perfect) and you’ve made me cry (as I am so heartbroken for Jennie). Light and dark. Life.
So incredibly sad, it’s beyond words. I don’t know Jennie or you personally but I know she is lucky to have you as a friend. In such a dark time I see so much light in the love and support being shown by such a wonderful community of bloggers. Thank you for sharing.
Shauna, What a lovely piece of writing about a beautiful family and wonderful friends. I hope Jen and her circle all find lightness from the dark.
Death in the time of social media is a strange thing I’ve found, but by that same token it’s also allowed a remarkable amount of banding together in support. This is lovely and so heartbreaking–my heart aches for Jennifer and her family, and to see the outpouring of support that happens whenever a food blogger comes upon hard times is so fucking heartwarming it washes any semblance of jadedness away.
And like others have said, posts like these are the glimpses of light that hopefully stay longer as time goes on.
This is such a heartfelt written post. I feel sick thinking about Jennie and her girls but it is good to know that so many people are willing to hold some light for her during this sad dark time.
You’ve put together some beautiful words for Jennie, Shauna. And that’s about all we can do right now. I’ve hugged my husband a million times and let tears fall… just thinking about all that Jennie must be going through. I wish I had gone to BSP2, just so I could have been a part of all of that happiness and friendship and love. Giant hugs to Jennie. We’re all thinking about her and her family and what we can do to help.
Beautifully written, Shauna. I am heartbroken for Jennifer. I met both of you at Eat Write Retreat in DC this past May (and Pam, too…and Justin…so many wonderful people!). This is the kind of tragedy that shakes you to the core and you’ve so nicely wrapped it all up with your kind and gentle words. It makes no sense whatsoever, does it? Your writing is a ray of light. Thanks so much.
Amazing words. This year has been so full of reminders to savor every day…to be full of gratitude. I am still dealing with the “not fair” part of loss in my own life this year.
BSP2 was proof that open hearts may bring vulnerability, but they can also bring great love and joy. Now it is time to let those open hearts heal others.
Well, this big ol’ Southern boy is doing his best to act all butch at the moment but my heart has been saddened since I heard of Mikey’s passing this weekend. My prayers have been flowing for Jennifer and her family. Thank you, Shauna for so eloquently expressing the emotions I have been wrestling with for people I have never met in person but love as much as any I have ever known.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful painful story. You are right darkness and light. Tears fall and I have not met these people. Good honest caring sweet people are few and far between. Loosing any one of them is a tragedy for the world. Please keep my email on the list to help in any way I can.
I don’t even know either one of them, but watching him dance with his daughter, I have tears rolling down my cheeks. I think I will indulge a few more of those “agains” with my son because I may not have another one. Thank you for sharing.
Beautiful, beautiful post. I am so sad for her loss.
Your writing is so very beautiful, Shauna. Sudden, shocking and sad. I think I know some of how Jennie feels as the same thing happened to my sister-in -law in January when my brother died suddenly. My sis-in-law looked in on him showering, saw him shampooing his head and heard him fall when she had stepped barely ten steps away. We just kept calling and listening to her share her grief and love and all of it. It was an honor to love and care for her. At 7 months out, it is still very painful and fresh. But it is getting easier, slowly but surely. We mention his name in every conversation and encourage her to do the same. I’m so sorry that Jennie has to feel this deep, deep loss. And you too. You, yourself, are such a lovely light. Thank you,
I didn’t have words to express the grief I felt for Jennie when I heard the news about her husband. I appreciate your words.
Beautifully written, Shauna. I am so sorry for the loss of your friend. I will keep Jennifer and her family in my prayers. hugs to you all.
I’m weeping and weeping and weeping. Poor dear Jennie, although we’ve never met in person she’s been quite the twitter pal and I can’t even comprehend what she’s going through. Thank you for the beautiful post Shauna and for letting us now how we can at least help ease the financial burden of such a trauma.
Dear Shauna,
I share this heartbroken, with tears and care, not to add to your burden but to connect you to the shared experience of a dear, heart-friend of mine – a true Cinderella who married her adored Prince Charming a little over 10 years ago, had two gorgeous boys who are now 4 and 5… and fatherless, as their teddy bear of a Daddy died suddenly of sepsis two days before Christmas last year. I have lived your pain since that day, or if not yours exactly, one brutally similar. “There are no words” were the post she shared on Facebook that morning after her beloved died in her arms. The title of her best friend’s blog is “Light in the Darkness.” My friend is a writer of your ilk who has shared the most naked, authentic, intimate details of her journey on her own blog over the last 8 months – all of which leave me here – clueless and clinging to hope.
I grieve anew for my friends’ loss, for yours, for Jennie’s, for her family’s, for the world’s. Sometimes being alive is the hardest thing to live through. Hugs,
Kerri
My deepest sympathies to Jennie and her family. Thank you for sharing.
Your words shine light in this darkness.
Thank you for this post. It was lovely to read. Sad and lovely. And thank you most of all for not ending it. Thank you for sharing this experience with us, letting it be sad, and letting us all sit with it. Hopefully you can feel us sitting with you. I think you can.
xoxo
I’m still shaken by this news. I was in NY this weekend helping my mom get my dad home for hospice care and so I’d been feeling a bit sorry for myself. This is so devastating, so enormous. I know my mom’s sense of loss after a long life with my dad, the thought of a love like Jennifer’s and her husband’s cut short leaves me breathless.
Such lovely words. Jennifer is at least lucky to have the light of you and your family. I’m another person who has never met Jennifer but I’m a big fan and even I can’t comprehend the depth of her pain right now. You never get past it, you just get through it. I do hope that she and her daughters – and all of you – find some peace eventually and relish the love that was shared with Mikey.
There’s a William Maxwell quote that bears repeating “People die, and then they are gone. I will never get used to it.”
Thank you for being so gracious, so wise and sharing these thoughts.
I am just so sorry to hear this news.
More later, but for now, peace be with you all.
Shauna,
Your lovely words captured your experience so beautifully & though I knew the ending….I found myself hoping, wishing for a different outcome. What a beautiful picture of Jennie! She’s stunning. I’m speechless as words cannot adequately express what we humans feel when such shock and devastation falls upon us.
I’m grateful for your words in this dark time, and I’m grateful Jennie has a friend like you!! Jennie’s writing always inspires me, always calms and relaxes me. Just 2 short weekends ago I sat down with my cup of tea and Jennie’s blog to “catch up” a bit. Twitter pals & we both have girls (my younger 2 are the ages of hers)….same food philosphies and what not….I’ve always felt like I “know” her.
The ironic thing is that though I follow you both on Twitter…I never really connected the dots that you two are good friends. Then this past Sunday I checked out your new cookbook from the library…..I was SO excited to start reading it…and I’m starting your love story.
And then today….I received Jennie’s news….and SHOCK, disbelief, horror befell me…..so unfair is right. I met my honey at age 19, and I almost lost him once (years ago). My heart aches for Jennie and her girls……and I will keep them in prayer & will not forget them when the dust settles. I’m honored we can all be a part to help. Jennie….we’re here for you.
thank you, Shauna, for this and everything
thank you, Justin.
Dear Shauna, I’ve been thinking of you this week for two reasons – one is our brief conversation we had after BlogHerFood 10 when you encouraged me to finish writing about my experiences with my son to help me work through the emotions and you insisted that I send my story to you when I finished it. Well I nearly finished it late last year but somehow knew that there would be more. And there has been – I’ve been exhausted and emotional and overwhelmed and feeling drawn back to that piece to write some more. Thanks for encouraging me to use writing as an outlet and allowing myself to reveal my emotions and struggles in the process.
The other reason I’ve been thinking of you is because of what happened to Jennifer Perillo’s family this week. Just this past weekend, we attended a Bat Mitzvah of a girl who tragically lost her father 3 years ago when he was shot in Detroit on a business trip. Gut-wrenchingly tragic in so many ways. The mom/wife has especially struggled with moving past the tragedy and slowly over the last 3 years we have watched her find her way through manic exercise and a renewed insistence on enjoying each and every minute of the day. On Saturday evening, as we gathered at her home for a wonderful celebration for her daughter, she gave a toast and said: It took us 3 years, but that the Bat Mitzvah process, which she was reluctant to pursue, actually ended up healing the family. In particular, the GATHERING of friends and family meant everything to them and that she was the happiest she had been in 3 years.
So you are right, there is light in the gathering. And none of us can make Jennifer’s pain or her children’s pain go away but we can be there to support her when it just seems like it’s too much and be there to celebrate life’s great moments when she is ready to do that again too.
Thanks for sharing such a beautiful piece with all of us and for moving this community to action in such a wonderful way.
Your posts always touch me, but this one had me in tears. Such beautiful words that’s you have for a dear friend. I hope that she will look back on your days together…some of Mikey’s last days, and smile.
Heartbreaking. Jennifer is one of the sweetest women in food I’ve met. Considering food attracts warm & friendly folks in general, that is saying a lot. I haven’t been able to shake this deep rooted sick feeling I’ve had since hearing the news.
You can learn a lot about someone by the company they keep… Seeing the outpour of support and love it is clear I am not the only one who thinks Jennifer is an a rare find.
It’s just not fair.
Please add me to your list to help out and send the family care packages. I wish I was in NYC to give her a hug.
Nothing I can say or do from so far away will make any difference or make anything better. All I can send is a lot of love to Jennie and her precious girls, and to you, and whatever thoughts/support that will help in the face of such loss. I wish I could do more.
What a beautiful post that had me in tears. How sad that Jennie and her girls lost their dear husband and dad, when he was still so young. Lovely that she will have a lot of people giving her their support and love at such a difficult time.
Having only recently started reading your beautiful work and following you on Twitter, that’s how I found out about Jennie’s tragic loss and your friendship. I’m struggling with not feeling like a voyeur into the lives of people I have never met, but the outpouring of love and care is profoundly moving, and the sense of community has affected me deeply – and the only reason I can find is that this is what it means to be human. Thank you.
Such a beautiful post! I had the pleasure of meeting Jennie and you at Eat, Write, Retreat like some of the other commenters here. Jennie and I re-met this summer at TECHMunch in New York. She’s such a warm, lovely person and this news is even more surreal in that she and I were talking on Twitter on Saturday about pickling strawberries. Then, to see this news just a few days later…
It has been wonderful, however, with all of the other distressing things going on in the world, to see the support of the food blogger community for one of its own.
Kathy (aka The Experimental Gourmand)
It looks as if you guys had a wonderful time, and I’m just so sorry for Jennifer’s loss.. It really isn’t fair and it never is like you said. I just hope they find comfort and peace during this difficult time. My heart breaks for her and her girls..
This is just so you, so entirely beautiful. When you spoke @ IFBC in Seattle last year there was this honesty, this fun energy – you were there to have a good time and celebrate living. You’d found the love of your life, what makes you healthy, what doesn’t, and success. It was just fun to sit in a room and watch you. So thrilled Penny will be shooting your next cookbook. That woman has some serious spunk, I can’t even begin to imagine the good times to be had while creating your next project.
The loss you wrote about, the light in the darkness. I know this isn’t the same, I know…but I lost my dog a couple weeks ago and it sucks. Life just isn’t that happy little bubble of energy anymore. I care even less about the trivial, and for a gal who works in marketing I’m clawing at the walls figuring out what next. There is this emptiness and I can’t even imagine what your friend is going through, but having lost my father five years ago (who raised me) I can say time does heal. You don’t lose that space, don’t on occasion think I’ll call…nope can’t do that feeling…but you learn to live with it. Really live. Two years after he passed I began baking (hadn’t done that in years), then I thought what the heck…got some opera playing really loud and my dad was there. I mean, you know what I mean. Anyway, I’ve taken up enough space. Hugs to you all and thank you.
Shauna because of Jennie – I won your cookbook and got to “know” you and your light through the beautiful book, your story, and twitter. I will always be grateful to her for that. What a touching piece.
I have not had the honor to meet either you or Jennie in person, but because of this precious world of food blogging, I do feel as though I know each of you. I have seen, peripherally, the laughter and the support, and the pain as well. I just had to let you know how much this post has touched me. Thank you for opening your heart to all of us.
Your words are a gift. The photo of Jennifer is incredible and was the first time I smiled in days. Love and gratitude from Carroll Gardens.
Shauna, your words are a gift. Your photo of Jennifer is incredible. I’ve never seen her look happier or more beautiful. Thank you to all who are wrapping their generous, kind support around her like a warm blanket. May there be some peace in the strength of the love that forever endures. Gratitude for Carroll Garden, Brooklyn.
Oh man.
Nothing to say except that you are an amazingly talented writer, my dear….and my thoughts and prayers are with Jennifer and her girls.
I cannot even begin to imagine…
Thank you for the reminder about what’s important. What isn’t. Why we gather. And why loving requires so much courage. Holding you and your community in my heart and in my prayers.
You are a true inspiration, and thank you for sharing your feelings in this amazing post. It’s such a horrible tragedy, and I wept for her and her two girls. Jennie is a lovely person and it’s just seems so very unfair, but there is no answer and no words to explain. All we could do is to embrace, love and support her and her family through this darkness while holding on to the ones we love.
Love Jennie. Love you. I’m looking forward to hugging you tomorrow, discussing how we can help, and making PB pie together – for Mikey. Jennie is an amazing woman with a huge heart. She deserves all the love our community can wrap her in. xo
You found the right words, this post is beautiful.
Shauna, this is beautifully written, from beginning to end. I have tears streaming down my face right now – I have been crying for Jennie ever since learning of this tragedy on Monday. I am hurting for her, and have never met her in person, only in my Twitter world and her blog. I’ll be waiting to hear more on the fund information. Thanks.
I read your post several hours ago, and it was how I found out about Jennie’s Mikey. I went and offered condolences to her, have been reading all the amazing supportive tweets going out and how almost everyone I know, myself included, will be making a peanut butter pie on Friday.
And now, I’m back to offer heartfelt condolences to you for whom this tragedy strikes so close to home. I’m amazed and grateful that you found the grace and strength to write this beautiful post in the midst of your darkness. Believe me, it shines. Thank you.
My heart cries for Jennie and her children. I’m so sorry for the loss of a precious husband and Father. Thank you for sharing the story Shauna. You are a light to all who blog and write and cook and love. Many Blessings!
This is a beautiful post, most heartfelt and made me cry.
I’m so sorry for your loss and your friend Jennie’s terrible loss. Thank you for sharing the story so eloquently. My heart is with all of you today.
Shauna, I don’t know Jennie or Mikey but my heart goes out to all the lives they have touched, and then your post made me find Jennie’s blog. I too will be making a peanut butter cream pie tomorrow….and I will continue to try to slow down to enjoy the moments I have here and now with those I love.
You brought tears to my eyes with this post. Eleven years ago I lost my Mike. It was tragic, hard, and so painful to know the kids wouldn’t have him. After a few years, I met a fantastic man and him and the kids get along great! I will always remember my Mike, he always stood behind me even when I was wrong. I hope one day Jennie finds peace and love. The journey will be hard and I know you will miss him but you will see him one day, just believe in that
Lovely pictures of the BSP2 I hope there will be a BSP3
I’m sitting here crying at my desk, though I don’t know you or Jennie. My heart goes out to you, Jennie and their children. I will definitely be making a pie on Friday.
Shauna I am so sorry that what began as a post of joy had to include such sadness. Although I haven’t read Jennies blog my heart goes out to her for her loss. This has been a rough summer for so many people in my life as well and it’s hard to process the tragedies. To gather together in support with love and so many times food is all I can do. I will be making a Peanut Butter Pie on Friday!
What a lovely tribute. I learned so much about this sweet family from your words. Thanks for sharing your grief, your knowledge and your love with such eloquence.
I read your post yesterday, and thought about it all day during work.
I am sorry for your loss. I’m so glad you got to spend time with them and make such wonderful memories.
Shauna,
Your post about your experiences these past two weeks…it was real. It’s amazing how life suddenly changes from light to dark, and then back again. I have experienced this myself and wished, many a time, that I could just rewind to those last few moments we had together. I love reading both of your blogs, and even though I don’t know you personally, the slices of your lives that you me touch me deeply. Like many have mentioned, there are no words or actions that will change what happened; just keep on supporting each other, whether in person, by phone, or through written words. That’s all you can do in times like this. Tears, laughter, cussing, and silence, they are all part of living and healing.
Wow, I am floored. Both by the surge of community that initiated this post and the call for community at the end. My heart goes out to Jennifer as the unexpected heart attack of my dad last year completely blindsided me. Though I’m not local to NYC, I would like to help out and give what we call a “love offering.” Thanks for posting this Shauna.
I am so so sorry for your loss. For the family’s loss. How sad. So very sad. I do not know her personally, but follow her on twitter and had recently seen the Food Network news, so I was excited for her, and then, this. So sad. I cannot imagine. Puts so much into perspective.
I’m so not remotely close enough to be a cook good enough to send anything, but I will be back in Brooklyn visiting family this fall. I would love to bring something by, or after all the meals are done, I’d love to just send a little something to her and her girls. Books for them, maybe? A journal for her. Anything – just some small sweet reminders of good. Whatever is possible. So, please, consider me then, or now. Or whenever is best. And thank you for sharing such raw emotion. This truly touched me beyond words. Hence the reason I am saying so many of them right now. Sigh.
Thank you so much for your generous posting about Jennifer (sorry, I don’t know her well enough to call her Jennie). So looking forward to Friday’s pie as well as to information about a fund for her family.
This is…awful. You’re right – there are no words. I stopped scrolling when I got to that sentence and just paused.
I saw you speak at BlogHer and was moved by what a beautiful person you are. This post is no different – I’m just sorry this story is the one I found upon visiting your blog for the first time. I don’t know her, but my heart breaks for Jennie anyway. No one should have to endure this.
On the other side of the ocean, this post has reached me. I’m so very sorry for your loss. I don’t know Jennie but I have been reading her blog for the past year and she is so obviously a wonderful person. It’s so completely fucking unfair and cruel. I will be making peanut butter pie tomorrow, and encouraging more UK foodies to join me.
Thank you for this beautiful post. I hope, if I ever need them, I have friends like you.
Shauna: I have read and re-read this many times. Your gift of words is beyond measure. I am so sorry for you loss. I do want to make a financial contribution so please let me know where to send it and who to make the check to. You have touched me on many levels. As I am here with the babies and experience life and laughter through their joy, I am constantly reminded of the fragility of life. Sending virtual hugs, Sallie
Thank you for sharing your grief with us, your readers. It is the path that will help you. spewing can be a good release at times, sharing your pain with others is, in the long run, a cooling breeze that will lift your heart. It will help you be there for Jennie and her girls.
I will be making pie as well, only on Sunday instead. My heart will be there in spirit though.
Heartfelt beautiful words. So beautiful. I will be making a pie and sharing it with a loved one. A love pie. Please add me to any list you are gathering to help. I’m there.
Big Summer Potluck was the single. best. thing. I did for myself and my blog last year; it was the first year for BSP and really solidified many lasting friendships. And those friendships run deep as you well know; this is an amazing community of caring and supportive people who will go to the ends of the earth when someone is in need. At the moment, that someone is Jennie – I am disappointed that we were unable to attend this year but as I watched the twitter feed throughout the weekend, I felt myself transported to that barn and knew that people’s lives were being changed, perspectives were shifting and more lasting friendships were being knitted together . . . and within the week, tragedy strikes and here we are . . . I am grateful for this community, grateful to be sharing the load of grief, grateful for the tears I have shed this week – it means I’m alive, it means I care and it means I’m connected . . . yes, I am grateful
Shauna, thank you for writing these words. And to everyone who has commented, thank you for your words as well. Regardless of the struggles that we are facing in our individual lives, there is so much widsom that has been shared that we can all use to find the light in our own darkness.
I already knew how this ended, and I cried anyway. It’s unthinkable that he was so alive, with kindness and welcoming, just a few days ago … and now he’s gone. As you said, there really are no words. My break breaks for Jennie and her girls.
I don’t even have words to express how I feel for her loss – you’re piece was simply beautiful.
beautiful post. It’s beautiful to see the light break through the darkness. as the food blogging community reacts to Jennie’s tragedy. I hope the light touches and in some way, helps sweet Jennie. It all leaves me speechless in sadness.
There are moments in life when the realization of how fragile we are shifts everything into perspective. You have captured that perspective in this beautiful post.
Shauna, your post is lovely. I saw many wonderful women I recognized in the photos and text, and it made me wish I’d been with you all. But of course it’s the horrible kicker, the abrupt ending that’s what I want to respond to. You captured it well. I “met” Jennie through Food52, then via Twitter. We were not in contact enough that she’s likely to remember me well (despite our both being in NYC), but my heart is grieving for her loss. I’m making PB Pie for Mikey as she requested. Thanks for sharing other ways of helping here.
Thank you. Thank you for the honest words, the story of the wonderful moments before, and the feelings that you struggle with now. I’m all torn up and upside down over this, and I’m just a distant “Kingsford U” friend. Thank you for sharing your love, your hope, and your stories.
You are much more than a distant friend, Brooke. We both adore you.
I’m moved beyond words. I haven’t commented here before, but that’s not because I don’t appreciate your work. I do. Beyond words. I just didn’t want to get lost in a sea of comments. But now, I want you to know that – right now, when it counts. Lifting up you, (especially) your friend Jennie, and all those who are affected by Mikey’s passing.
thank you so much, Melissa.
So beautifully written. And your photos are exquisite. I’ve had a heavy heart these past few days and I don’t even know Jennie or Mikey personally. We were grateful to participate in his peanut butter pie tribute. As I read more and more about Jennie and her family, and I look at mine — especially my husband who is always pushing himself too hard for his job — I can’t help but think: there but for the grace of God go I. Please do keep us informed of how we can further be of assistance to the Perillo family. I’m in France so food delivery is obviously out (though I’d be happy to send a care package of French treats) but would be interested in contributing to a fund.
Cat x
Your words in tribute to Jennie and Mikey are simply eloquent. Just beautiful. She is lucky to have you as a friend, and it is comforting to know that the gathering of bloggers will do their best to help Jennie and her girls see glimpses of light in their lives as they travel the long road ahead without their beloved Mikey.
I wonder if you would be willing to share your one-sheet on cross contamination? Such a thing would be such a help!
What a beautifully written, honest, genuine post. Thank you.
Crying. Beautiful, Shauna. From start to finish. Now I know the details, and I am so sorry for your loss. When I think of Jennie and her girls – it makes me that much more grateful for what I have here – intact. It also makes me think of those I’ve lost – and the pain. I know this is late in the game, but I hold you – and Jennie and her girls in my minds eye and my heart. Grief is a long road. How wonderful that you can see the gathering of support as the light.
I discovered your website this morning.I was impressed with it and returned tonight.I have never met Jennie or read any of her work.I will remember her and her girls in my prayers.They are friends I havent’t met yet.Jennie is going to have to find comfort, rest, relaxation, and recreation, through friends. It is great to see the out pouring of love she has in her love of food.This is a site like no other I have found searching for gluten free foods.I have gotten so much more than I planned. I have found a wonderful new caring family.
Thank you for your wonderful writing.My prayers and condolences go out to Mikey’s family and to you as well.God is with us in both are light and dark times.We need to lean on HIM!
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