I’ve lived in North Carolina for 27 years now. More time than I spent growing up and living in my home state of Wisconsin. Over the years, I’ve had my fair share of culture shock,  something that hasn’t stopped even after all this time.

One of the things that was different to me was the practice of providing food to a family that is grieving or otherwise going through a difficult time. This may not be exclusively a Southern phenomenon, but I think they do it best. I call it funeral food.

When someone dies, the community rallies to provide support to the bereaved family.  What better way to express condolences than by providing that which sustains us? Casseroles,  pies, cakes, salads, you name it. Everyone seems to have that signature funeral food they can whip up in a hurry to shuttle off to a grieving family. One thing I often hear from people after going through a death in the family is, “We had so much food leftover!”

While this without a doubt assists the family with basic needs, there is a greater force present here. In the past, I’ve always participated in group food efforts in the office. The call would go out—“We are getting food together to take to so-and-so.” One co-worker always buys paper plates and disposable cutlery for a grieving family, declaring that the last thing folks should worry about is doing the dishes. I’ve made dinner foods like baked spaghetti, baked easy-to-share items like banana bread and cookies, and whipped up crowd-feeding salads to be included in the funeral food delivery and never given it much thought.

Recently, however, while making a lemon-blueberry pound cake to give to someone in the office whose mother passed away; I realized the true value of funeral food. The entire time I was deciding what to make, baking the pound cake, and packing it up for her I thought about her and her family. I hoped that enjoying a piece of my pound cake would provide her and her family a moment of enjoyment in a time of deep sorrow.

This is what funeral food is about. It isn’t just a single act of generosity done out of habit. While preparing that pound cake (which turned out spectacular), I spent my time while mixing ingredients wishing my co-worker well, thinking about and praying for her and her family. The pound cake won’t last. Goodwill and good thoughts will.

I still haven’t figured out what my funeral food go-to is, but I am working on it. Next time I am called on to contribute, I do it with a newfound appreciation for this act of kindness.

Editor’s Note:  Carolyn Miller is a new writer.  We welcome her to the Cape Fear team.