Late in his life, my father developed a severe allergy to shellfish. For a person from Maryland who loved oysters and crabs, this was a genuine hardship. He was a world traveler and an adventurous eater, so for the last decade or so of his life, he went everywhere with an EpiPen, just in case.

Well, that isn’t strictly true. He didn’t carry the EpiPen. It was my mother who had custody. Wherever they went, she was the one who carried it. She had terrible nightmare scenarios running in her mind about a careless restaurant cook, or a hidden ingredient in something, or my father himself forgetting that snails, a dish he loved, drenched in garlic butter, were included in the family of shellfish. It was a serious allergy, and she took it seriously.