The silent suffering

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Ever since mother has passed away, my sister has been offering meals to her near her photograph in her room, somewhat of an alter where we have the photographs of our deceased parents, in mother's room. It's her way of clinging on to the invisible presence. The food is then left outside the house for birds and dogs and cows to feed on after lunch and dinner everyday. Now, I have a good taste of food and am a foodie. I usually order food on special days, sometimes on Sundays, just to get over the simple recipes she cooks everyday. She has stopped making special dishes and I hardly venture to, in the kitchen, except when she is not feeling well. So, today when I ordered for what we call cheese curd dumplings or meatballs, I was in for a shock when she, having offered almost three of the five pieces for lunch, served it to the stray dogs. For me it's hard-earned money and my favourite dish getting wasted on those stray dogs that feed on anything. Will the pain serve the sense of her offering? I wonder!