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The passing of an old friend leaves a terrible hole.  I see Chester on the bed.  Maggie pads down the hall and I begin to think, which one are you? I pull out two bowls at meal time. 

No one showers with me or my husband.  Chester perched on the edge of the tub and yelled at us to finish so he could get in and drink the last drops from the faucet.  Occasionally, he’d get in the shower while it was running.

No one sleeps on my butt or jumps up and nudges me with his shoulder, just to say hi.   He’d lie on my stomach while I was reading and beam love at me.  There’s no one to snip leaves off our houseplants or the zucchini in our garden.  No one to quietly say, “mee-yew!” in that ridiculous voice.   No one to be completely willing.

Chester could always find a reason to purr, even when he didn’t feel good.

We can leave the toilet seat up if we want to.   The ice cream truck?  Come by whenever you want and turn up that tinky-tink music–you can’t scare us now!

I find myself feeling lonely on Maggie’s behalf.  Maggie, I think, isn’t lonely at all.

I feel complete with Chester’s passing and it was appropriate for him to leave us at 16.  At the same time, there’s a hole where someone used to be and you just have to notice it until eventually, with the passing of time, the hole fills in.

 

 

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