Ramen, Grief, and Everything In Between

Picture courtesy of my friend

I ordered ramen. Coz my friend showed the picture to me..hey I want it too!
It was pricey.
And I didn’t care.

Because today, grief was loud. And my heart needed something warm—something that reminded me I’m still human. Still capable of feeling hunger that isn’t emotional. Still worthy of little comforts. Even if it comes with a side of guilt and a receipt that might make me wince later.

The ramen hasn’t even arrived yet.

But I already know he’d nag.
“B, why so expensive? You know you could just eat at home, right?”
And then, the sigh. The one that says, "Fine. Enjoy it. As long as it makes you happy."

Because that’s who he was. He’d grumble over the cost, then let me indulge without making me feel bad about it. He never shamed me for needing something—even something as simple as overpriced soup. He’d let me have my small pleasures. Because he loved me like that.

And I miss that love so much.

I miss being known without having to explain myself. I miss being teased and looked after in the same breath. I miss how he’d remind me to take care of myself without ever making it a demand. He just showed up—with his presence, his words, his steady, gentle heart.

Now, I wait.
For ramen. For healing. For the moments that hurt a little less.

Tonight, grief and cravings sit at the same table. And that’s okay.

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