Flowers for Chester

Chester Floyd Merrifield died on January 11, 2006. He had been ill the summer before with sinus infections; one right after the other. He was given ten rounds of antibiotics. The week before Thanksgiving 2005, Chester went to the dentist because his teeth were beginning to fall out! He was only forty-eight, so this was not a normal occurrence. His dentist sent him to an oncologist.

Chester was told at the oncologist that he had metastasized cancer of the sinuses (paranasal cancer). The cancer had spread to his brain and jaw and the treatment options were slim to none. He was given a short time frame to live and told to get his affairs in order. What does that mean? It must be astounding to hear that. “Get your affairs in order.” It makes no sense.

The day before he died, he went from room to room in his house and just looked at all his beautiful things. This was a real Chester thing to do as he was an artist. Not an “arteest” a real artist who drew on paper, painted on canvas, wood, and furniture. He was also a florist who made the biggest, most outrageously gorgeous flower arrangements in the Universe.

I think about Chester every day, but especially in spring. He loved forsythia, but for some reason he always called it “for-Cynthia.” I never did ask him why. My forsythia bushes are bright yellow right now. Their long tendrils are spilling over with a yellow so bright that it makes you blink. Chester would have loved these forsythia bushes. They were just babies when Chester died. They have grown and blossomed into big robust bushes that hang over my fence like an old friend draped over a couch.

At Chester’s funeral there was an incredible array of flowers. Some of his friends knew who he was. They sent arrangements that were worthy of the Queen’s foyer. Yet, there were some who clearly did not know or understand Chester. Flower arrangements with icky little displays, some with carnations even! In my stunning grief I found it difficult not to constantly cry. I am not a crier, however, this was one day when I just could not stop, no matter what anyone said. As I made the rounds of the myriad flower arrangements I came upon the saddest little basket filled with some sort of murky houseplant and a few carnations stuck around it. At the same time there was a velvet-like rose in the center of the arrangement. Through my tears I began to laugh. Then, I pointed to the basket and began to sob loudly. “If Chester wasn’t already dead, this basket would have killed him,”. The thing was, it was probably true!