The Voiceless Griever's Club: We Do What We Cannot Say
I couldn’t think.
I couldn’t talk.
I could only cook.
I gripped the knife in my right hand and steadied the tomato in my left. Carefully, I peeled the skin back, laid each strip flat on a baking sheet, and slid it into the oven.
I was exhausted from another sleepless night. A bed made for two. One warm side, the other cold.
Ariana was gone.
My dad was gone.
All that remained were their tools: my dad’s knives and Ariana’s stand mixer.
I cooked for him. I baked for her. It was my connection to their ghosts.
Every time I started one of those marathon kitchen sessions—sometimes a day, sometimes three—I called on them. My grief poured into the food with one goal: to feed the people who were still here.
Sometimes Grief is Nonverbal
Early in my grief, my mouth failed me. Thoughts stayed locked in my head; words snagged in my throat. I felt alone and isolated, even when people showed up. “How are you?” was impossible to answer.
So I gave them food for their bellies instead of words for their ears.
I spent years cooking my way through chef Massimo Bottura’s recipes. His words summed it up in six simple words: “Cooking is an act of love.”
That's exactly what I had been doing.
Showing love and gratitude when grief made me mute.
Because grief scrambles more than your emotions. It seizes your body, your brain, your voice. Searching for words is exhausting. Repeating “thank you” for the hundredth time is hollow.
Finding a Language of Love
Even when I was in the kitchen for 12 hours straight, it gave my grief somewhere to go. My hands worked while my mind went quiet. I didn’t need language; the meal said it for me.
Cooking was my language of love. Yours might look different.
If words fail you, here are other ways to speak love without speaking at all:
Make a playlist that tells your person’s story and share it.
Invite someone over for a movie. No talking required.
Write a short note. Work on it slowly, when you have the energy.
Send a small gift. Flowers, a gift card, anything simple.
Text two words: “Thank you.” That’s enough.
If you haven’t already, make sure to subscribe to Project Grief and show your support.
Permission
Grief will overwhelm you.
It’s the nature of loss.
It is not weakness.
Find the ways you can still nurture the relationships that matter, even when words collapse.
You’re allowed to laugh while you ache. You’re allowed to love while you hurt.
Grief stole my words.
But love still found its way through the knife, through the oven, and through the plate.
That’s how I kept moving forward.
One meal at a time.
- CJ
If you want to read more about the first year after losing my wife, Ariana, you can order my book, Torn Pages from a Broken Heart.
Have you found your language of love? Leave a comment and share.
If you enjoyed this read, the best compliment I could receive would be if you shared it with one person or restacked it.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful post. Baking has always been my love language and now I do use it as an outlet for my grief. I'm looking forward to reading your book. Thank you for sharing your journey with us.