The nurses asked me who they can call for me. My mom is 45 minutes away...my sister is 45 minutes away...my MIL is 45 minutes away and I can't tell her what happened to her only son.
Then I remembered that I have friends. Two phone calls is all it took. I quickly found myself surrounded by love and support in the hospital. Cheryl made sure my kids were picked up and taken to her house so they wouldn't be alone. Greg and Val called our rabbi, took care of paperwork, and made sure I was never alone. My mother and MIL finally arrived at the hospital. Tears, hugs...it's all a blur.
For the next few weeks, a constant parade of food came to my house from our temple friends, Girl Scout families, and neighbors. Actually, so much food arrived, we had to store it at our neighbors' houses. An e-mail schedule circulated. We certainly wouldn't starve (although I had no appetite).
Six weeks later the last of the food is arriving. I DO know how to cook. How do I tell them to stop? They feel the need to do something constructive, and I don't want to imply that we don't need their love or their support, even though it all comes in the form of food.
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