I recently reached a milestone: I pulled out the bread machine and made a loaf of sandwich bread. This had been my husband's task, and I hadn't touched the machine since last August, when he got too ill to do it.
Apropos of nothing, it called to me the other day. The recipe was still stuck to the side of the fridge with my Dan Quayle magnet (long story), and there was enough whole wheat flour and buttermilk powder in the fridge to do one batch. There was still plenty of yeast in the freezer, but it had been well over a year old last August so I had doubts. But I was on a roll and going out right that second to buy fresh was not gonna happen. I crossed my fingers and forged ahead.
Three hours and twenty-seven minutes later, I had a slightly undersized, somewhat pale loaf on the counter. Close enough. All I could do was stare at it. I hadn't realized how much I had associated that process with my husband. That simple, pale loaf made me very happy.
I did restock ingredients, but I may have been a tad overenthusiastic. My son and I don't go through a lot of bread and I probably bought enough flour, etc. to last me into next year. But I keep the whole wheat flour in the fridge*, so no worries.
Feels good to reclaim that seemingly insignificant task. Pretty sure my husband would be happy about it, too.
*The oils in ww flour go rancid much more quickly at room temp. FWIW.