Losing your dad suddenly is kind of like eating dessert before dinner for the first time in your life. You choose the richest, creamiest ice cream and stack scoops upon scoops of the most decadent flavors you’ve never dared to taste before. You drizzle a chocolate syrup darker than midnight and watch it slink seductively down the heap. You toss a torrent of chocolate chips over its entirety in a delirious joy. You top it all off with a carnival colored, red maraschino cherry, perfectly cozy in its oozing gooey sweetness. And then you take a bite. Just a small, delicate one at first. You leave the spoon in your mouth just long enough for the ice cream to melt, but not long enough for the chocolate chips to sink into the dry crevices of your tongue. But, boy, is that bit good.  Naturally, you reach for another spoonful. And another. And another. Until you’re digging ravenously into all of its heavy goodness and- you even forget you haven’t eaten dinner yet- looking around frantically for more of those cherries and some of those mint chips and why not even some of those sprinkles you passed on earlier? You've never liked rainbow sprinkles, but now you can’t sprinkle enough of them over this sundae. You eat and you eat and you eat because you’ve never been allowed to eat so much before and who knows if you ever will again?

And then you keel over.

You clutch your sickened stomach as it groans painfully, sending waves of rejected chocolate back up your throat. Your stomach twists and turns, jabbing at your insides until you dare not even glance at the ice cream anymore. And in the midst of all the agony and confusion, you realize what you want, what you need, is some soup. Maybe from the dinner you missed. Just some warm, some soothing, some dependable tomato soup, with the bits of meat and potatoes and celery. Oh, wonderful soup! Even though dinnertime’s passed, you’re invigorated with a new determination and begin pulling out ingredients to stir up a little something yourself.

You place all the pots and the ladles and the vegetables out on the counter, but then you suddenly halt. You stare blankly at all that lies before you.

Because you have no clue how to make it on your own.