I found out that night, on my way home from work. I was
chatting with my dad from the passenger seat. I was happy as it had been a good
day at work. We were driving down the highway past some random billboard or
another when he broke the news. My neighbor had died. He had been toeing the
edge of life and death for around a week or so but his death still seemed so
sudden. I remembered only a little over a week ago waving to him as he sat on
his porch. He was a quiet man, never uttering much more than a sentence, but he
was kind. I wasn’t extremely close to him but the next few days showed me how
much of an impact he had on my life and I on his. In the eulogy at his funeral
his friend said he loved watching my sisters and I grow up. I can still
remember him coming over and helping us build snowmen in the winter. While I
missed him my grief was not comparable to that of his wife.
About a week later her sister was in town. We were all so
excited to see her sister, she brought with her the sweetest Golden Retriever
ever. Upon hearing that our neighbors sister was in town Emily and I were very
excited. Usually left to our own devices in the evening we would cook dinner
and race over. Bounding past dusty bikes and dusty chalk in the garage we would
make our way across the spongy lawn to the neighbors house. There we would be
greeted in by a slobbering ball of love and two women we held in utmost
respect.
Curling into kitchen chairs we talked, especially Emily.
Speaking at almost a mile a minute with her hands going just as fast, she
dominated the conversation. This was okay with me as I generally prefer to
listen. Although Emily held first place for most words spoken in the
conversation our neighbor and her sister got in fair amount.
We talked about life. Our own youthful experience combined
with our neighbor and her sisters own world wizened opinions. Never swear they
told us. It is truly an unattractive trait for a lady and besides as my sister
added there were other words you could use instead. Their one exception was
however in extreme cases. It was here we learned that the first word stroke
victims learn to say is the s word.
These nights were fueled by laughter plain and simple. A
sprinkle of wisdom and seriousness accented the conversation but never dominated.
We always returned to the same comedic atmosphere. These nights granted greater
understanding and deeper relationship with my neighbor, her sister and even my
sister. Eventually my neighbors sister had to leave and while we still went and
talked to my neighbor quite a bit it was never quite the same without her.
