There will be dinner on me

I'm grateful June is over.  Somewhere between "Chester kindly picked the best time to get sick, because I had too much to do to get depressed" and "I was too busy to notice Chester was sick" lies a stack of fond memories and piles of guilt.  

Learning to live without Chester makes me look like the character in the quit-smoking commercial, where everything he attempts to do is awkward.  He irons his clothes after he puts them on and the announcer says something about learning how to live life without cigarettes.  Yesterday my son played tennis with bare feet because I failed to pack white soled tennis shoes.  Today he played tennis in his swim trunk and rash guard because I failed to pack clothes.  I routinely have been failing to make dinner.  I can't seem to get past cutting the onions.

Even in his death Chester has been a gift that keeps giving.  These gifts are mostly life lessons like learning to live without regret, value my loved ones, slowing down, paying attention, etc..  Then there is the gift of rapid weight loss.  But the most important gift is that I am lovingly surrounded by hugely supportive friends.  When I get through this I will invite you all over and cook you a lavish dinner.  Meanwhile, back to the cave for more grieving...