So I came home from work earlier this week, and my neighbor was waving at me from her kitchen window. I walked over to see what she wanted. Her husband, Stan, died in his sleep on Tuesday. He was in his late 60’s.
Stan was a pretty good neighbor. He would shovel the snow off my walk while I was at work, helped me clean my gutters, took care of my house while I was in the Army, and we’d have conversations on his back patio whenever we finished doing our yard work on Sundays. We borrowed each other’s tools, and helped each other with various chores. I could really talk to him, and even our political discussions were never argumentative or judgemental. He had a way of helping me find clarity amidst the confusion.
I’m about to reach parity when it comes to the living versus the dead ratio in my life. It seems like the older I get, the more dead people I know, and while it’s true that dead people never seem to make mistakes or have any flaws, they always seem to leave me with that heart-wrenching lump in my chest and throat whenever it occurs to me that I can no longer indulge in their company… And what I wouldn’t give for a hug from my mom right now.
Yesterday I turned another year older… Another year closer to death. I miss so many people right now.