Peter came. He drove from Chicago — twelve hours, alone, without his wife, through Wisconsin and across the bridge into Duluth — and he walked in the door on Friday evening and he was thin and he was tired and he was here.
He saw Paul first. Paul was in his chair, reading (right hand holding the book, left hand in his lap), and Peter stood in the living room doorway and looked at his father and I saw the moment when Peter understood that the diagnosis wasn't just a word. It was visible. The left hand in the lap. The adaptation. The thing that had changed about Paul that you couldn't see in a phone call but that was unmissable in person.
Peter said, "Hey, Dad." Paul said, "Hey, Pete. How was the drive?" And they talked about the drive — the traffic in Milwaukee, the weather in Wisconsin, the bridge — because Johansson men don't say the big things first. They say the small things. They build up to it. Or they don't build up to it at all. Either way, the small things are said.
Peter stayed until Sunday. He slept in his old room — the room that still has his high school bookshelf and the poster of a bridge (the Mackinac Bridge, his favorite) that he put up at sixteen and that I never took down. He was quiet. He walked with Paul on Saturday morning — shorter walk, Paul's walks are shorter now — and they walked to Brighton Beach and back and I don't know what they talked about but Paul came home looking lighter and Peter came home looking heavier, and I think that's how it works. The dying person gives their weight to the living, and the living carry it.
Peter and I talked on Saturday night, after Paul went to bed. We sat at the kitchen table with tea (not coffee — Peter doesn't need stimulation, he needs calm) and he said, "She's leaving, Mom. The divorce is happening." I said, "I'm sorry." He said, "Don't be. It's been over for a long time." He didn't cry. Peter doesn't cry in front of me. He cries in dishwater.
He said, "How do you do it? The nurse thing. How do you take care of him without falling apart?" I said, "I fall apart. I just do it in the car, or the bathroom, or at 5:30 AM when nobody's awake. I fall apart in shifts, the way I work in shifts." He looked at me and said, "You're the strongest person I know." I said, "I'm not strong. I'm organized."
I made his favorite meal on Saturday: chicken pot pie. Not Swedish. Not Scandinavian. Just Paul-and-Linda comfort food, the meal I've been making since 1989, the golden crust and the creamy filling and the peas and carrots that taste like safety. Peter ate a large piece and his eyes were soft and he said, "This tastes like being twelve." It does. That's why I made it.
He left Sunday. He hugged Paul at the door — a real hug, long, the kind Johansson men don't usually give — and Paul said, "Come back soon, Pete," and Peter said, "I will, Dad," and his voice cracked on "Dad" and he got in the car and drove away.
I stood in the driveway until the car turned the corner. Then I went inside and washed the teacups and put the leftovers in the fridge and the house was quiet and Sven was asleep and Paul was asleep and I was the only one awake, carrying the weight of both my men — the one who's dying and the one who's breaking — and I carried it to bed and I lay down and I was still carrying it when I fell asleep.
After Peter left on Sunday and the house went quiet, I stood in the kitchen looking at the empty pie dish in the sink and thought: this is the recipe I want to share. Not because it’s fancy or Swedish or impressive, but because it’s the meal that made my grown son look twelve again for a moment—soft-eyed and safe at the kitchen table, even with everything falling apart around him. This is the chicken pot pie I’ve been making since 1989, and it has carried this family through more hard nights than I can count.
Chicken Pot Pie
Prep Time: 30 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 15 minutes | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 2 store-bought or homemade pie crusts (top and bottom)
- 1 lb boneless, skinless chicken breasts
- 1/3 cup unsalted butter
- 1/3 cup all-purpose flour
- 1/2 cup diced yellow onion
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 cup chicken broth
- 2/3 cup whole milk
- 1 cup frozen peas
- 1 cup diced carrots
- 2 medium Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and diced small
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
- 1 egg, beaten (for egg wash)
Instructions
- Cook the chicken. Place the chicken breasts in a medium pot, cover with water, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer 15–20 minutes until cooked through. Remove, let cool slightly, then shred or dice into bite-sized pieces. Set aside.
- Prep the vegetables. While the chicken cooks, bring a small pot of salted water to a boil. Add the diced carrots and potatoes and cook 8–10 minutes until just tender. Drain and set aside.
- Make the filling. Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and cook 3–4 minutes until softened. Add the garlic and cook 30 seconds. Sprinkle the flour over the onion mixture and stir constantly for 1 minute to form a roux. Slowly pour in the chicken broth and milk, stirring continuously until the sauce thickens and begins to bubble, about 3–4 minutes.
- Combine everything. Stir the shredded chicken, cooked carrots, potatoes, and frozen peas into the creamy sauce. Season with salt, pepper, and thyme. Remove from heat.
- Assemble the pie. Preheat oven to 400°F. Press one pie crust into the bottom and up the sides of a 9-inch deep-dish pie plate. Pour the filling into the crust. Place the second crust on top, crimping the edges to seal. Cut 4–5 small slits in the top crust for steam to escape. Brush with beaten egg.
- Bake. Place the pie on a rimmed baking sheet and bake 30–35 minutes until the crust is deep golden brown and the filling is bubbling through the slits. If the edges brown too quickly, cover them with foil.
- Rest and serve. Let the pot pie cool 10–15 minutes before slicing. The filling will thicken as it rests.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 480 | Protein: 24g | Fat: 25g | Carbs: 40g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 620mg
About the cook who shared this
Linda Johansson
Week 106 of Linda’s 30-year story
· Duluth, Minnesota
Linda is a sixty-three-year-old retired nurse from Duluth, Minnesota, living alone in the house where she raised her children and said goodbye to her husband. She lost Paul to ALS in 2020 after two years of watching the kindest man she'd ever known lose everything but his dignity. She cooks Scandinavian comfort food and Minnesota hotdish and the pot roast Paul loved, and she sets two places at the table out of habit because it makes her feel less alone. Every recipe she writes is a person she's loved.