Killing me slowly

Pancakes, a cheesesteak and coffee was the order for the boys and I at the 24/7 diner one cold Saturday afternoon.  We ventured out to an early morning ‘fest’ with a local sports team.  I don’t remember feeling festive — just cold.  The boys lost interest when they lost feeling in their fingers so we went to the greasy spoon.  

The place was packed.  I learned this to be especially true after the place made an appearance on one of TV’s food shows.  We noticed the posters going out because we were too busy staring at the dessert case going in.  

A few tables away from where we were sitting, a couple caught my attention as they were framed in my vision between the faces of my sons.  He ordered a coffee and she a soda as they studied the menu, which was extensive, colorful, and well used.  The waiter returned to refill their glasses and take their order.  

At this point, I’ll admit that my observation became curiosity, bordering on judgement.  He was obese and she was morbidly obese.  While I obviously didn’t weigh these folks, she was wheelchair bound and he wasn’t far behind her.  

Their meal came and my curiosity had indeed become judgement.  But when the side order of a second cheesesteak arrived, my judgement became sadness.  She wasn’t hungry for food.  She was feeding something else entirely.  

So I turned back to my boys, grateful that they’d warmed up.  I was also grateful that we’d made it through another meal without an allergic reaction.  

The kids have a food allergy that could, at any point, quickly send us to the ER. It’s something we stand vigilant against.  And while we stand steadfast against a dramatic meal, the folks at Table 37 were killing themselves slowly — with the same cheesesteak that provided energy and life to my boys.  

There are things in this world that are certain to harm (my brother drank brake fluid as a child.  It didn’t kill him, but it may explain his proclivity for two-stroke engines), things that bring life and a lot that isn’t quite as binary.  The same cheesesteak that was a net positive for my boy, is killing Table 37 slowly.  It’s up to us to know what will definitely harm us (brake fluid) and what could harm us (cheesesteaks).

My sadness became curiosity: what brought her to this point.  Obesity doesn’t happen overnight.  How am I addressing my pain?  What behaviors exist in my life that appear healthy, but are killing me slowly?  What behaviors in my life put others in harms way?  Urgency and drama keep our attention, yet it’s the subtlety of slow that should warrant our diligence.