This is exactly what I miss most about expat life. Exactly!
When you live abroad and someone on the other side of the world is gravely ill or passes away, normal rules don’t apply. No one pops round with a tuna casserole to help the family out. There is no Shiva sitting or sympathy cards with the promise of masses held on the behalf of the deceased. Despite this, the lack of what may normally be expected–the food, the family, the familiar– there is an understanding. There is rallying of a different sort.
When I had to travel to a funeral in the U.S. not too long ago, no one brought me a lasagna. Instead I had friends offer to watch my kids while I flew across the Atlantic. I had other friends offer to make their lunches, pick them up in the morning, take them home after school if my husband needed to be at work. As yummy as a chicken pot pie might…
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