You Have to Choose Community

You have to Choose community - these words resonate as I slice watermelon for the salad in my moms kitchen. It should be my parents' kitchen and it kind of surprises me how quickly my brain adapted to that. We are catering a wedding for friends. My mother is packing the vehicles and I am doing prep work while Jamie Tworkowski is reading to me from the Audible app on my phone on the counter. I felt a need to listen to him speak after these last few weeks. His voice and his words, though a bit christly, resonated deep within me. I had chosen to download the book after a very serious dip in my mental state. I luckily alerted my safety net before I had sunk too far into the abyss that is depression, or the “Big Sad” as my friend calls it.

My mother and I leave the house in separate vehicles and without much issue, I reach the destination of the wedding. After a quick introduction to the homeowner and the kitchen, we unpack and set up. The wedding is taking place in the backyard of a stunning house 15 minutes from the city, with a fantastic view of the river. Carol, a friend of the brides and our helper for the evening, arrives minutes later to help and we set to work getting the appetizers and prep work done. They are in the middle of rolling cutlery into sunflower napkins when my mom randomly asks “Did you forget things all the time” she pauses. “After”. The word hangs in the air as Carol looks up perplexed before realization dawns on her. Her shoulders slump a fraction but her voice is cheerful and empathetic.

“Oh all the time” she says, focusing on the wrap in front of her.

“I feel like I have no brain anymore,” my mom adds, finishing her own stack. She and Carol continue to talk and I grin to myself as I think of the words. These people were my dad's friends. His band buds. My mom had agreed to do their wedding as a favour to them but also as a kindness to my dad and after he passed she felt slightly obligated to do so in his memory and to maintain and support her friendship with them. But as my mom continued to work with Carol, their mutual grief gave them an understanding of each other that was intimate and empathetic. They both saw each other and were seen. They laughed as they wiped tears from their eyes.

The dinner was fabulous, the "Racist Asian Salad" (it's actually called Oriental salad, however my friend, who is Chinese, assured me that it was slightly racist, so I thought my name was better) was absolutely delectable and I ate like four helpings. The burgers were magnificent and that potato salad was devoured. It was wonderful to hear everyone talk about the food and see people sneak seconds and ask for to-go bags. It was a lovely time. It was nice to see my mom smile and chat. I let her continue to visit with the guests and I got to work on dishes. Bus pan after bus pan I smiled as I took people's plates and cleared the tables of food, cutlery, salt and peppers.

Guests began to mill towards the hall for the reception as we cleared, and within an hour and a very frustrating debacle with my mom's keys, I was out of there and on my way home. I felt tired from all the running, but the work felt good. It's good to, every once in a while, have our attention directed to helping someone. I think it's a pleasant reminder that we need each other. And it's not a bad thing. I believe hyper independence is a trauma response and those who practice it are the ones who are in need of community most. My mother has always been independent but I watched as she chose community. Chose to be there for friends because of their love for my father and care for their relationship, and in return she received community. She received empathy and grace. She received love.

We are connected by so many things. Shared experiences, similar circumstances, comparable opportunities. I watched as our community came together when my family needed it most. I am utterly grateful to the people who have helped us in that time and have continued to be there for us as we navigate this new path.

I hope we can all carve out our own communities in the world. It might not happen all at once but over time, we can build something beautiful.

P.s. I will totally include the recipe for the salad! It's amazing!

-LM

“Racist Asian Salad” Oriental Salad

½ Head cabbage 2 cups mushrooms 2 green onions ½ cup sliced almonds/ or pumpkin seeds 2 Tbsp. sesame seeds 1 ½ cup bean sprouts ¼ cups sunflower seeds ½ package chow mien noodles

Dressing: ½ cup oil Packet of seasoning from soup 4 Tbsp. soy sauce 3 Tbsp. vinegar 1 Tbsp. sugar ½ tsp. pepper

Method:

Combine dressing ingredients, set aside.

Slice cabbage super fine, slice mushrooms, chop green onions. In a large bowl, combine cabbage, mushrooms, green onion and bean sprouts, add almonds, sesame seeds, sunflower seeds ichiban noodles and chow mien noodles right before serving. Add dressing and toss well.