Say It With Casseroles
In the South, casseroles are known as “funeral food.” After a funeral, people gather at the home of the bereaved and bring casseroles for a kind of potluck. The idea is that the family shouldn’t have to entertain the mourners and shouldn’t have to cook for basically the rest of the week. Some people even bring frozen casseroles to extend the usefulness of the food offerings. Tuna noodle casseroles are popular. Chicken rice casseroles. Green bean casseroles. Shepherd’s pies. Eggplant parm. Tater tot casseroles. Frito pies. Lasagna. Sweet potato casseroles. Ham and potato casseroles. Broccoli cauliflower casseroles. Moussaka. Even one that’s simply called “Funeral potatoes.” There are plenty of cakes and pies, too.
Food is an essential when there’s a new baby as well. It’s assumed that the new parent or parents won’t have time to cook substantial meals, so plenty of frozen casseroles are supplied. Visitors don’t arrive en masse and don’t expect to be entertained. They often bring useful items like diapers and wipes. They expect a few minutes of conversation, a look at the infant if they’re asleep, or a chance to hold them for a minute. What they mostly offer is help. Cleaning. Babysitting for older children. Running errands. Preparing bottles if needed. Emotional support is a big form of support as well. Helping the new parent with self-care. Comfort items. Listening. Offering encouragement.
Even an illness or operation generates plenty of contact. People visit in the hospital, bringing flowers, treats, plushies, prayer circles, and more. They stay as long as you want or leave when you’re feeling tired. They ask if there’s anything they can bring you, and then they do. They ask if your plants need watering. When you come home, there may again be casseroles, especially if it’s been a major operation like knee replacement. There are offers of picking up groceries or medication. They ask what you need and, nine times out of ten, they follow through. They call to check up on you or just to talk.
It’s all different if you have SMI, however. SMI is just not a “casserole illness.”
If you have a public meltdown, no visitors, no encouragement. No casseroles.
If you spend time on a psych ward, no visitors, no flowers. No casseroles.
If you aren’t able to go to an event or meet for coffee, no sympathy, no prayer circle. No casseroles.
If you’re not able to get out of bed all week, no housekeeping, no errands run. No casseroles.
And if you survive a suicide attempt, no understanding, no acknowledgment. No casseroles.
I get it. I do. People don’t know what to say, so they don’t. They don’t know what you need, so they don’t offer it. They don’t know how to cheer you up (and they can’t), so they stay away. They’re afraid of psych wards, so they don’t visit.
Casseroles can’t hurt and might help.
What it all comes down to is stigma and ignorance. There are no social conventions that apply to those with SMI. Except for the most fortunate among us, we’re on our own.
