In the support group, I often talk about pizza. To me, it is one of the most perfect foods. It can be made in so many ways that it’s accessible to everyone, and there are endless combinations for the toppings.
Also, it’s one of my personal favorite foods, so I just like talking about it.
Recently, I had an experience with pizza that fits so perfectly with grief that I knew I needed to blog about it.
My local grocery store, like so many others has a deli and pizza area. For a reasonable price, I can get a decent pizza in about 10 minutes… and I can shop while it bakes! Perfect! I placed my order, did my shopping, and made my way to checkout. As I’m loading up my little treasures on the conveyor belt, I noticed my pizza was missing. The bagger kept loading items into the bag, and I thought with horror, “NO! They’re gonna crush the box! Cheese. Toppings! Mayhem on the pizza box!” I wasn’t buying anything too heavy, so I figured I should just calm down. I’m stressed because I’m hungry and I can practically taste the pizza from the smell.
Something happened with the transaction, and we needed a manager/supervisor to come help. No problem – I’ll just grab one of my slices! Wait… what is this new horror? The pizza box was put in the bag on its side. ON. ITS. SIDE! I held out hope, but it was quickly crushed by opening the soggy box and finding absolute mayhem inside. All the warm gooeyness had slid off! I was livid, and they bagger didn’t seem affected. He didn’t even look at me. I was so hungry, and I was trying so hard to reign it all in. While waiting for the supervisor to come by, I walked back over to the pizza area, with the cheesy sadness contained in a pizza coffin. “It happens at least once a week,” he said to me as he made me a new one.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted someone to hurt because I was so dang hungry, and my dreams were thwarted by what I perceived to be callousness for knowing how pizzas should be treated! Does he have no respect for the craft of pizza?! I wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it is to consider a pizza bagged on its side. Why didn’t I check sooner – maybe it could have been saved? I should have gone to another line – better yet, I should have used self-checkout. I know how to respect a pizza. I thought about posting it on social media and getting support from all the other people in my life who have lost a pizza to sideways thinking. Oh the emotions that rolled through me.
After I got in the car with my new pizza (comped for the inconvenience), and got a slice in me, it dawned that I had just experienced pizza grief. Stay with me here – nothing about my experience is different than the grief anyone of us experiences. Sure the grief over my pizza is not the same as losing a loved one… but I still experienced it as a loss. I had expectations and I had hung (short-term) dreams on experiencing it. It’s not the same as losing a family member, pet, friend, or anything else… but I still experienced loss.
What kept me from losing my mind was the practice I have with other losses in life. Once I realized what was happening inside of me, I could experience it without letting it control me. I didn’t take the anger out on that bagger. I didn’t start crying to a point I felt out of control. I didn’t shut down. I could tell myself a story of loss that involved coming out the other side… and it involved a new pizza.
All of our experiences contribute to the stories we tell ourselves. They shape how we handle the same experiences in new ways, as well as all new experiences along the way. I’m confident you have your own pizza grief story to share. It’s a real experience of loss with a dash of humor, a pinch of perspective, and a schmear of hope; never forget it’s still yours and a reflection of where you have been, where you are now, and where you are going.
… and don’t forget to save a slice for a companion along the way!
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