Harold Richardson’s Fried Chicken
“If I can do anything for you—anything!—just let me know.”
You will hear that if someone in your life dies. We heard it plenty the last few days. Pam’s father died on Friday, and between the hour of his death and the hour of his funeral on Sunday, we were flat out. Pam was tired after a week of sleeping in a hospital room. Her mother was deep in grief. The rest of us were busy welcoming family to town, and just enjoying the circle of love that kept building in the living room of our rented condo as more and more people arrived in town.
Lots of people said to call if we needed anything. We didn’t call a soul. But we got lots of help from people who skipped the asking part and just did something.
One of my favorites was a man named Harold Richardson.
Harold must be ninety himself, walks slowly with a cane. He was one of my father-in-law’s best friends. Almost exactly a year ago his wife had died. On Saturday Harold called my newly widowed mother-in-law, told her he was going to drop off something for the funeral reception. Della told him she wouldn’t be in her apartment in the retirement facility—she’d be with us at the condo we had rented in town. That was fine, Harold said, he’d just drop it off.
And he did.
It was two platters of fried chicken covered with tin foil. Harold didn’t fry that chicken; we’re not sure where he got it, but it was good. And it never actually made it to the funeral reception. The burgeoning family circle needed lunch before the two o’clock funeral the next day, and we heated it in the oven and put it on the counter buffet where it promptly vanished. (Actually I fought my son-in-law for the last wing.)
It was my daughter Sharon—who had been at her mother’s side all week, through the wee-hour agonies of a dying man she loved as a cherished Papa—who said it: “One thing I’ve learned this week. When someone dies, don’t ask the family what you can do. Just figure out what you’re going to do and do it.”
That’s a good lesson, one most of us know but forget in the moment. You don’t have to bring fried chicken. And you don’t have to do it before the funeral. People in shock and grief need love and support long after everyone’s gone home and life is back to “normal” for everyone but the bereft.
Ask not what you can do for your friends in grief; just do it.
Oh yes. When our oldest child died a few years ago we received much “fried chicken”, sometimes also in the form of letters, cards, messages of condolence. No matter how commercial the card or how akward the note, every communication helped us to know that real people really cared for us and joined us in feeling our sadness. In our inner eye we picture Pam and you and send our affection.
God Bless you both at this time. Ginny
Dear David,
You and Pam have my sincerest sympathies! No matter how many times we walk with others through their own losses, losing someone we love is never easy nor is it a journey that we are fully prepared to experience. Great dads are a girl’s first love. When their job has been done well (or as best as a human being manages being a parent), a dad prepares a daughter for life.
May God be with you and your family, now and in the days to come! Peace, Wanda
Thanks, Wanda–like what you said about Dads and daughters (I have two!).
Dad – Wanda is right! Rest assured you’ve got two daughters who fell in love with you long before we knew how to walk 🙂 As she says, you’ve prepared us well for life…and you keep on helping us move through it – sometimes gliding, sometimes stumbling, sometimes crawling.
Love you, daddy-o!
Dear David,
I wanted to let you know how your writing touches lives all the way across the country. This post was one I passed along for my husband and daughter to read. A couple of weeks ago we found our home in the middle of the floods in Colorado. As we were trying desperately to create a line of defense, a neighbor showed up with a tractor bucket full of sand. My husband relaxed momentarily, looked at me and said – fried chicken. I knew exactly what he meant… 3 days later when we were back at home surveying the damage our daughter called to say she’d be over with lunch. It was no accident that she showed up that day with fried chicken – all thanks to you and Harold Richardson. Thank you – for a moment in a rough situation we all smiled.
Thanks, Susan–Reading your comment makes writing this blog all worthwhile.