It’s not just any old chef knife; it’s his chef knife.
- Gabrielle Elise Jimenez
- 4 hours ago
- 3 min read
When my mom died, I took her blue tape measure that she always wore around her neck when she was sewing. When my dad died, I took a small wooden box that he had made, and an old burgundy sweater that I don’t even know if he ever wore, but it was his and I wanted it. When my sister Laura died, I didn’t have anything that belonged to her, so I started collecting antique beaded purses, because that was something she loved. And when my brother died, I saved a button off the hospital gown he was wearing when he died, and while that might sound strange, I was there when he took his first breath as well as his last and I did not have anything of his, so this button meant everything to me.
My friend John was an amazing chef, he had this magical way of turning each meal into something beautiful as well as delicious… and the cookies he made for dessert were so good they should have been illegal. I loved eating his meals as much as I enjoyed watching him prepare them.
He was the kind of man who found joy in many things, especially cooking, but also watching the sunrise and sunset, being around any body of water, flying kites, listening to music, sitting by a roaring fire, and spending time with people he loved. We had so much in common… many of his favorite things were also mine.
I had the honor of spending a week with John shortly before he died. We talked about his life and his death, and he had made peace with dying in a way that seemed to make this journey a little gentler for him and all who love him. He said numerous times, “I have lived a good life.” He never complained, he found joy in each day, and he truly savored every single minute down to tapping his foot to the beat of his favorite songs that were playing moments before he took his last breath.
One night I was cooking him dinner, using his chef pots and pans and his fancy chef knives. I raved about his knives; they made food preparation so much easier. He told me I could have one and I felt like I had won the lottery. I wrapped it securely in my suitcase hoping it would not be taken from me but also feeling that it was precious cargo, and I could not wait to get it home.
Every day as I prepare my lunch for work, I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and I use his knife to cut it. My other knives could cut it just fine, but this is his knife and when I use it, even for something like a sandwich, I feel closer to him, and connected to him. It’s not just any old chef knife; it’s his chef knife.
I can’t speak for all of you, but when someone I love dies, I feel the need to have something tangible that keeps me connected to them. Sometimes it is song, or photos, or a favorite movie we watched together. Sometimes it is a piece of their clothing or jewelry, or something they used often that offers me a chance to be with them again, perhaps even imagining them right there with me. John’s chef knife does that for me. Maybe you can relate to this... (((hug)))
xo
Gabby
I wrote a book of poems as I navigated my grief journey, one is especially for John, called "Your Smile."
You can find this book here:
