This week my heart throbs for two families who are facing the anniversary of a child who died too soon. Flowers? Perhaps too much of a reminder of the brevity of life. An apple pie? Gluten is a minefield these days. Maybe just a card will carry my intentions.

A few years ago at the Marriage Conference the main speakers brought many of us to tears with their testimony about recovery from addiction, and the havoc it caused in their marriage. One line still haunts me.

"People don't bring casseroles when your disease is addiction." I can't recall any appearing when my mother was in the mental hospital either. As a society we have no clue how to support people when the pain is messy. New baby... a pink blanket and spaghetti. Torn ACL? Take their kids to soccer and basket of fruit. But depression? Rehab? Bipolar? We are more lost at sea than Hemmingway's fisherman. 

This article describes one family's experience with the outpouring of meals when they faced cancer, and how it evaporated when the trouble shifted to drugs. Then their daughter in recovery was hit by a car and the comfort food started appearing again. 

Don't get me wrong. I can still see the parade of loving edibles that arrives when the twins were born. The food is gone but the gratitude continues. Yet I wonder if we can expand our compassion to include other permutations of pain.