Neighbor: “a person living near or next door to the speaker or person referred to”.

We have lived in the same house for forty-seven years. The neighbors on either side have been there about forty years. Their neighbors have been there for fewer years. The lots we live on are about one hundred feet wide, so we are close enough to the neighbors to see them now and then and to know them a little. The farther away the neighbors are, the less we know them, just a friendly wave maybe as we drive by.

Then the neighbor to the east died. Nick had many health issues and lived alone. His neighbors, Tom and Linda, had been walking Nick’s dog, and one day Tom went in and found Nick dead on the floor.

I was out grocery shopping that morning. Returning home, as I crested the rise on our road, I saw a police car in front of my house, lights flashing. My stomach began to churn, fear for my wife rushed into my head and heart. Then, I saw a rescue squad in Nick’s drive, and another police car, all with lights flashing.

We neighbors gathered in Nick’s front yard, talking to the police and to each other. That day, and in the days that followed, I had more conversations with neighbors than I’ve ever had. I prayed for Tom, the man who found Nick, and told him so. We shared stories and memories. Tom helped me cut down a tree; I helped Nick’s nephew throw stuff into the dumpster now parked in Nick’s driveway.

I’m going to miss Nick, the sound of his classic Toyota Supra as he pulled into the driveway after going out for breakfast, the casual wave as we drove past each other on our riding mowers, the infrequent chats about nothing as he walked his dog, Buddy.

But why did it take Nick’s death for me to get to know my non-adjacent neighbors? I’d love to wrap this up with a profound and biblical answer, but I can’t. I’m sad that Nick died. I’m glad for the new connection with my neighbors. Maybe that’s all there is.