I Lost My Daughter-in-Law. Grief Makes It Hard to Eat, But I Keep Turning to Her Favorite Soup

"I perfected it some time near when I first met her, when she and my son were 15 or so. In the intervening years, there were many other everyday milestones - the Whataburger drive-thru, rides to movies, tres leches cake for her birthday, job advice, a ring - and she grew from a cute kid into one of my favorite people, my daughter-in-law Dayla Espinoza-Bayles. We lost her early this year, at age 25, after a brief but brave battle with ovarian cancer."

"I often see something I know she would like and come this close to reaching for it. In that split second, she is still alive. And then I remember to be brokenhearted anew. At times, the loss feels bottomless, extending out forever. It's hard to gather my thoughts enough to do the things that need to get done, to have the oil changed, to do the dishes and to sew up that hole in my pocket."

"From my work as a dietitian, I know well that things like stress and sorrow show up in our food choices almost before anywhere else. Some of us eat more, some of us eat less, but all of us are affected. As hard as that is, it's also natural, even beautiful. Each of us comes from a long line of people who survived because their bodies prompted them to make similar decisions, to protect them from famine or danger. There's no shame in it."

A broccoli cheddar potato soup recipe was perfected to be nutritious, creamy, and comforting, and was a favorite of Dayla Espinoza-Bayles. Dayla grew from a teenager into a beloved daughter-in-law and died at age 25 after a brief battle with ovarian cancer. Grief produces sudden urges and vivid memories, making ordinary tasks feel difficult and sometimes suppressing appetite. Professional knowledge as a dietitian shows that stress and sorrow change food choices quickly: some people eat more, others eat less, and all are affected. Those reactions are natural and rooted in survival, not moral failure. Responding without shame and with peaceful self-compassion allows healing even when comfort or convenience is prioritized.

Read at TODAY.com