I thought my husband would be there for me when my mom passed away, but instead, he chose a vacation to Hawaii over my grief. Devastated, I faced the funeral alone. But when he returned, he walked into a situation he never expected—a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. I was at work when the doctor’s number flashed on my phone, and somehow, I knew what was coming. My heart sank even before I answered. Mom was gone. Just like that. One minute she was fighting a minor lung infection, and the next… nothing. My world stopped making sense.
I don’t remember much after that. One moment I was sitting in my cubicle, and the next I was home, fumbling with my keys, eyes blurred with tears. John’s car was in the driveway, another one of his “work-from-home” days, which usually meant ESPN muted in the background while he pretended to answer emails.“John?” My voice echoed through the house. “I need you.” He stepped into the kitchen, holding a coffee mug, looking mildly annoyed. “What’s wrong? You look terrible.” I tried to speak, but the words got tangled in my throat. I reached out to him, desperate for comfort. He sighed and gave me a quick, awkward pat on the back, like he was consoling a distant acquaintance. “My mom… she died, John. Mom’s gone.” His grip tightened for a moment. “Oh, wow. That’s… I’m sorry.” Then, just as quickly, he pulled away. “Do you want me to order takeout?
Maybe Thai?” I nodded, numb. The next day, reality hit hard. There was so much to handle—planning the funeral, notifying family, and dealing with a lifetime of memories. As I sat at the kitchen table, buried in lists, I remembered our planned vacation. “John, we’ll need to cancel Hawaii,” I said, looking up from my phone. “The funeral will probably be next week, and—” “Cancel?”
He lowered his newspaper, frowning. “Edith, those tickets were non-refundable. We’d lose a lot of money. Besides, I’ve already booked my golf games.” I stared at him, stunned. “John, my mother just died.” He folded the newspaper with the kind of precision that told me he was more irritated than concerned. “I get that you’re upset, but funerals are for family. I’m just your husband—your cousins won’t even notice I’m not there. You can handle things here, and you know I’m not great with emotional stuff.” It felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “Just my husband?” “You know what I mean,” he muttered, avoiding my gaze and adjusting his tie. “Besides, someone should use those tickets. You can text me if you need anything.” I felt like I was seeing him clearly for the first time in 15 years of marriage. The week that followed was a blur. John occasionally offered a stiff pat on the shoulder or suggested I watch a comedy to lift my mood. But when the day of the funeral came, he was on a plane to Hawaii, posting Instagram stories of sunsets and cocktails. “#LivingMyBestLife,” one caption read. Meanwhile, I buried my mother alone on a rainy Thursday. That night, sitting in an empty house, surrounded by untouched sympathy casseroles, something snapped inside me. I had spent years making excuses for John’s emotional absence. “He’s just not a feelings person,” I would say. “He shows his love in other ways.” But I was done pretending.I called my friend Sarah, a realtor. “Can you list the house for me? Oh, and include John’s Porsche in the deal.” “His Porsche? Eddie, he’ll lose it!” “That’s the point.” The next morning, “potential buyers” started showing up. I sat in the kitchen, sipping coffee, watching as they circled John’s beloved car. When his Uber finally pulled into the driveway, I couldn’t help but smile. It was showtime. John stormed in, face flushed. “Edith, what the hell? People are asking about my car!” “Oh, that. I’m selling the house. The Porsche is a great bonus, don’t you think?”He sputtered, pulling out his phone. “This is insane! I’ll call Sarah right now!” “Go ahead,” I said sweetly. “Maybe you can tell her about your fabulous vacation. How was the beach?” Realization slowly dawned across his face. “This… is this some kind of payback? Did I do something wrong?” I stood, letting my anger finally surface. “You abandoned me when I needed you most. I’m just doing what you do: looking out for myself. After all, I’m just your wife, right?” John spent the next hour frantically trying to shoo away buyers, while begging me to reconsider. By the time Sarah texted that her friends had run out of patience, I let him off the hook—sort of. “Fine. I won’t sell the house or the car.” I paused. “This time.” He sagged with relief. “Thank you, Edith. I—” I held up my hand. “But things are going to change. I needed my husband, and you weren’t there. You’re going to start acting like a partner, or next time, the For Sale sign will be real.” He looked ashamed, finally understanding the gravity of his actions. “What can I do to make this right?” “You can start by showing up. Be a partner, not a roommate. I lost my mother, John. That kind of grief isn’t something you can fix with a vacation or a fancy dinner.” He nodded. “I don’t know how to be the man you need, but I love you, and I want to try.” It’s not perfect now. John still struggles with emotions, but he’s going to therapy, and last week, for the first time, he asked me how I was feeling about Mom. He listened while I talked about how much I missed her calls and how I sometimes still reach for the phone, only to remember she’s not there. He even opened up a little about his own feelings. It’s progress. Baby steps. I often wonder what Mom would say about all this. I can almost hear her chuckling, shaking her head. “That’s my girl,” she’d say. “Never let them see you sweat. Just show them the ‘For Sale’ sign instead.” Because if there’s one thing she taught me, it’s that strength comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s pushing through the pain, and sometimes it’s knowing when to push back.
Which is better for cooking, gas or electric? These are some things to be aware of.
The Gas vs. Electric Stove Debate
The debate over gas stoves vs. electric stoves is ongoing. Many people prefer what they grew up with, and that’s understandable. Familiarity often shapes our choices. However, beyond nostalgia, which is better for cooking: gas or electric?
Factors to Consider
There’s no one-size-fits-all answer. Both types of stoves cook food differently. Your choice may depend on what you cook most often. Additionally, consider safety and utility costs. Let’s delve into these factors with a detailed analysis below.
Gas Stoves: Cost-Effective in the Long Run
Buying a new stove is a big investment. Comparing gas and electric stoves upfront can be tricky due to price ranges. Low-end electric stoves start around $650, while gas stoves start at $800. High-end electric stoves can cost up to $2,800, whereas top gas stoves are about $2,300.
In the long run, gas stoves are cheaper due to lower utility costs. Utility rates vary, but generally, gas is less expensive than electricity. Investing in a gas stove can save you 10-30% annually on utilities.
Electric Stoves: Safer Option
Electric stoves are safer. Gas stoves have open flames, which can be hazardous, especially for children and pets. Items like tea towels and wooden spoons near the flame can catch fire. Although electric stoves can burn you, it’s less likely. Gas stoves’ flames indicate when they’re hot, but electric burners can stay hot without visible signs. Still, electric stoves are less likely to cause burns. Plus, they don’t emit gas, eliminating the risk of leaks.
Gas Stoves: Faster Cooking
Gas stoves heat up quickly, which is why many restaurants use them. They reduce cooking time significantly. Electric stoves take longer to heat up, while gas burners ignite instantly and start heating the pot immediately.
Electric Ovens: Even Cooking
Electric ovens cook more evenly than gas ovens. Gas emits moisture, creating a wetter heat, while electric ovens provide dry heat, perfect for roasts and baked goods. Gas stoves may cook unevenly, so food should be placed away from the heat source and rotated regularly.
Gas Stoves: Versatility
Gas stoves offer more cooking options, such as flambéing, charring, and toasting, which electric stoves can’t do as effectively. This versatility makes them a favorite among restaurants and dedicated home cooks.
Electric Stoves: Easier to Clean
Flat-top electric stoves are easier to clean. A damp sponge can usually handle most messes. Even electric stoves with coil burners are manageable—remove the burner, clean the plate, and reattach. Cleaning takes just a few minutes.
In contrast, gas stoves have heavy, multi-part grates that need to be removed. Cleaning them can be time-consuming, and losing an important piece is a risk.
Conclusion
Ultimately, the choice between gas and electric stoves depends on your cooking habits, safety needs, and willingness to manage utility costs and cleaning. Both have their advantages, so consider what matters most to you in your kitchen.
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