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My next door neighbor died yesterday.

We've been neighbors a long time. When we moved here 26 years ago, Al couldn't have been much older than I am now. How many conversations can you have in 26 years? We mostly talked in the spring and the fall, when yard work would bring us to the adjoining edges of our properties, and Al would lean on his rake and we'd chat for a few minutes. Al had a nice voice; almost musical, a nice laugh, too. We had similar views on politics; we'd solve the problems of the world and the town in those short breaks. Politics, real estate, business. Lawn chat. Al fussed over his lawn.

Just a few weeks ago a new SUV appeared in Al's driveway. You could tell he liked it, was proud in a self-effacing sort of way. He said he felt safer in it; that his eyes weren't what they used to be, that the commanding view was helpful. Good for you, Al. Good for you.

Monday morning, Linda and I were up early. A vacation day, but we wanted to go out for breakfast, so we were up at 6:00. We saw the ambulances in front of Al's house. Shit. We tried to convince ourselves that maybe everything was OK- they don't seem to be rushing, maybe it's not too bad. Please, let it not be bad.

Later, we heard he was in critical condition in the hospital. We still wanted hope. He'll be OK, he's a tough old bird.

Last night, Linda came home from helping with her dad, who had a terrible stroke last year. She sat on the bed beside me. "Al died", she said. "I know, I heard". We looked into each other's eyes. "Poor Millie", Linda said, "They were so close. They did everything together". Like us. Words unsaid, but in her eyes. Like us. Our eyes filled, not just with tears for Al, but tears for all our deaths, past, present, future. All the numb eyes pleading above parted lips that cannot speak the words that will turn back the death, the separation, the pain. We see them all and hold each other's hand. Poor Millie, yes.

I'll miss you, Al. Just a few days back I was thinking that we hadn't chatted in a while, that you hadn't been out as much to putter in the yard.

I'll miss you.