CRYING INTO MY CURRY

When you don’t find me here, I will be gone.”

That’s the way our favourite restaurateur speaks. Slightly cryptic, more than a little poetic. The havoc of his cancer is becoming increasingly evident. He’s long been hinting at returning toThailand; I expect he’d like to get his young Thai wife back to the country of her birth and set her up in a little business before he dies. He spins whimsical tales of us visiting him in a hotel he plans to build. We try our best to be enthusiastic about his plans, but tears spill into the dish he makes for me and me alone. It is not on the menu here, but – he tells me – it will appear on the menu at the new place. He will call it Cindy’s Jungle Dance.

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43 thoughts on “CRYING INTO MY CURRY

  1. I like curry. Your special curry looks delicious.

    Time in this body for all of us is temporary, but knowing death may be imminent for someone we love makes it hurt more. I’m not good with losses. Blessings to you, Cindy…

  2. What a beautiful tribute – not that which is black on white – but that which can be read between the lines… Love your writing!

  3. I have watched my granparents both suffer through cancer, and as heart wrenching as it was, i appreciate the time we had to say good bye. Perhaps those moments are actually blessings.
    xx

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