Dear Makers of the Oreo Cookie March 10, 2008

Dear makers of the Oreo cookie,

I am sitting outside eating one of your cookies. It is chocolate-y and crunchy and the creamy filling is delectably full of bad calories. It is one of my favorite comfort foods, your Oreo cookie, and if my grandmother saw me eating it right now, she might say “Good. You’ll get fat again.”

She grew up on an island near Cebu, Philippines, does not even reach five feet on a height chart, and has probably never weighed in excess of 80 pounds her entire life. Her idea of hospitality is offering food to you the moment you enter her home, and then asking you approximately every twenty minutes if you’re still hungry. She makes the best fried rice ever.

In my grandmother’s mind, being fat is a sign of opulence and wealth. When I weighed 65 pounds more than my current weight, I was beautiful in her eyes. She poked my stomach and proudly said, “You are so VERY fat!” The first time I saw her after I lost my weight, it took her a minute to register who I was and then she asked my mother in Tagalog if I was deathly ill or if my husband was starving me in California. I made sure to eat a bowl of fried rice right in front of her. Had an Oreo cookie been available, I’d have eaten that too, but my dad likes to maximize his grocery dollars and doesn’t buy brand name foods, so I ate a Chocolate Sandwich Cookie with Vanilla Filling (they are in no way a satisfactory replacement of your Oreo cookie).

I tell you all this, dear makers of the Oreo cookie, because of certain phone conversations that took place this morning between me and my parents and brother in Florida. My grandmother was brought into the ER this morning for the second time in a week, for the umpteenth time in a year. The doctors sent her home. There’s nothing left to do, they said. Her body is shutting down, they said. It could be tomorrow, it could be a month.

My initial instinct was to fly home immediately. But my family tells me she is unresponsive, that her eyes are closed all the time, and that even if they were open, she would not recognize me. And so, I am waiting. Waiting just like the rest of my family is, only they are with her, and I am over 2000 miles away.

Of course, I am sad. I have even cried. I want to feel comfort. And when I am sad, and cry, and need to feel comfort, I eat junk food. Which is where you come in. I am eating yet another Oreo cookie, hoping that this confection will overcome the salty tears, the throb in my forehead, and the pain in my heart that comes with the knowledge that the next time I see my grandmother, she will be—

I think I’ll just eat another cookie for now.

Thanks for making them so sweet.

Sincerely,

Riley