If a dinner could be a metaphor for life, I feel like I've relished the main course in my marriage to Janell. We had so much - the "appetizer": our whirlwind romance leading to our marriage. The "salad": our healthy habits of balancing time between the theater, exercise, travel and family meals. The "entree": raising our children, spending quality time with our families, our life as a couple, our meaningful work and striving to maintain Janell's health in her battle against carcinoid cancer. The "dessert": weekend retreats to bed-and-breakfasts, snuggling up on the couch to watch our Lost or Desperate Housewives, wine and chocolate at our favorite restaurants and Sunday mornings with coffee, tea and the newspaper.
And now? I'm living on leftovers, memories of the luscious meal of a lifetime. We feasted on our lives together; I only wish I would have savored each course, each bite, each aroma, and each texture more deeply than I did. So now - I pick through the refrigerator, picking up tidbits and scraps of food, and have no appetite for life. I eat to survive and hope for the day when my "life-as-a-meal" will again be an elegant feast and not leftovers.
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