On my way home from a dog walk I saw two police cars on my block. I assumed someone’s burglar alarm went off, since my street is quite sleepy (aside form barking dogs and leaf blowers). Seeing several neighbors gathered on a porch, I asked about the police and learned that a man who lived in the corner house had died. The EMTs had already responded and left.
I never met this man. I had been told he had lung cancer and was undergoing treatment so he rarely came outside. I occasionally see his husband leaving for work and mowing the lawn. Other than a wave and quick hello, we’ve never spoken. He keeps to himself. They are very quiet people.
I know they are “original owners” who moved here 20 years ago when the neighborhood was first built. I’d guess they were in their 30s or 40s back then.
I don’t know anything else about them. But I know about losing your spouse to lung cancer. I know about grief and sadness. I know about feeling like it will never go away.
I pondered whether I should say or do something for the surviving spouse for a few hours. We’re strangers so I’m not obligated to. If anything, it might be kind of weird for me to say anything to him.
I thought about the many condolences I received after my wife died. I got emails, calls and texts from friends, family and former colleagues. Many of those people did not know my wife. But they knew me – some only in passing. And each message was kind, heartfelt and genuine.
So I sent my neighbor a card with a personalized message and an invitation to contact me anytime he wants to talk.
My guess is that he will never want to talk to me. That’s OK.
I’ll be sure to say hello whenever I run into him in person on the street. I remember those first two years after my wife died. Nobody wanted to talk to me about her. They felt awkward. They didn’t know what to say. It was uncomfortable for them.
I can’t do much for my neighbor, but I can listen. And maybe I can offer a little hope that one day things will feel different… and better.
F***ing lung cancer. I hate it.