A few weeks later, on my nightly excursion with the dogs while they do what they do, I again felt the urge to pray, not from all the way over here, by my front door, but on his own property. I walked over and just stood on the edge of the driveway that separates us and began to pray. After awhile I turned and went back into the warm house, still thinking about Billy and wondering how he was tonight.
Some weeks after that I heard a car in the driveway. Looking down from my bedroom window, I was overjoyed to see him slowly emerging from the passenger side. I ran outside to just let him know we had been thinking about him, and let him know if he needed anything to give us a call. He waved, went inside and that was the last time I saw him. I knew he must have gone somewhere for Christmas. I didn't realize it wasn't for Christmas, but because he wasn't recovering. He really wasn't coming home. That little voice had been spot on.
Later, looking out the window overlooking our street, I saw his family removing a bed from the house, so I went down to get the scoop on how he was doing. I have met his son a few times, and I met his brother after he went to the hospital, when he came over to check on things and let the little dog out. I asked the brother how he was and was completely and utterly, taken aback when he told me they were thinking of putting him in a home. The shock must have shown in my face because he suddenly became all business.
He got back to moving the bed and I went home and cried.
Billy has been one of the best things about moving to this house. The old man was always outside, tending his beautiful yard, working on his mower, or refinishing the floors in his house. He was so proud of those floors. If he wasn't in his own yard he was mowing someone else's yard. Or the cemetery. When my mower broke he fixed it, several times, and gave me maintenance pointers. Once when I accidentally pulled a wire in the back bedroom that shut off everything in the living room, he came right over and reconnected it. It had been late in the evening on a Friday, and The Mr. was out of town. I never forgot his kindness. It was because of him that we realized we had a working hot tub. For years we thought it needed a new motor.We had been told so by the man who came to do the repairs on it, a year or two after we moved in. He told us we needed 700 dollars. So we saved it and called again. Another guy came out who told us we needed TWO motors, and it would be twice as much. We spent the 700 on something else that escapes me now. Later in a conversation with him, The Mr. repeated what we had been told, that the previous owners must have taken the motors with them. Our neighbor bristled at what we had been told.. He knew those people for a long time, and he knew they wouldn't do such a thing. He showed the Mr. exactly where to look and then walked over to the electrical box on the outside of our house and promptly turned it on! We were flabbergasted! And thankful once again to have such a great neighbor.
And then there was the time our tree fell on his garage and made a big mess and a small hole. We heard him out there, early in the morning with the chainsaw. It was hurricane Rita, and a decent sized tree. He was on top of the roof calmly cutting it up all by himself. The Mr. got up there and helped him get it all chopped up and moved. And he never said a word about the hole in his roof, he just patched it up and went on his way.
He always waved if he was backing out or pulling into the driveway while I was outside. Sometimes we would chat for a while, maybe a few minutes, sometimes half an hour. He told me he had moved here in the early 70s and his wife had passed away in the late 70s. He told me a lot about my own house's history, including who built it, and about some of the families that lived here in the past. He told me our two brick houses were built by the same person. I marveled when I looked at his Kelly Green bricks and then over at my red ones, that anyone would ever paint such a treasure, but of course I didn't say that out loud. I found out another day that he hadn't been the culprit. It had been Kelly Green when he moved in. Some other person had painted over the bricks, twin to my own.
One time, when I was really, really sick with the chronic heart condition I unfortunately inherited, he saw me out in the front yard trying to mow my lawn. I was so tired. I would take a few steps and rest and then go again. He had been mowing the yard of the lady who lived across the street. He saw me struggling and like an elderly knight in shining armor, but in this case, on a shiny riding lawnmower instead of a horse, he came right across the road and finished off my yard for me.
In all the years we lived here he never said a word about any yelling he might have heard coming from our windows. Never judged. If I apologized for it the next day he would always say "Aw I didn't hear anything, Julie."
When our Granddaughter was born, Katie and I walked over and introduced him to the baby. He was so sweet. He talked to us for awhile, told us how beautiful she was and then reached in his pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill and gave it to Katie as a gift to buy something for the baby.
From year to year I watched his yard bloom in the spring. I was especially taken with his Turk's Caps. And the Roses. His house is ringed in Rose bushes and Peonies. Without fail he was out there pruning and planting, raking, mowing, trimming, and walking his little dog. Making his yard better. Making the neighborhood better.
This year has been a different story. One cold day some people across the street came over to check on him because they noticed his yard was uncared for. I saw them, and thinking they might know how he was doing, I ran down and met them in his yard. They didn't even know he had been hospitalized and they were just as concerned and shocked as I had been.
Christmas day I went over to give him a little bag of Christmas cookies. No one answered the door, so I left the little bag hanging on his mailbox, among the several cards, notes, letters all left by other caring and concerned neighbors. It seems our neighbor had not just impacted our own family all these years, but many people who lived up and down our street.
There is such a deep sadness in me tonight, as I think of him in the nursing home. A place where there aren't any Turk's caps to care for, no roses to prune, and no freedom to go wherever he wants to go.
I make the few steps across the lawn and stand in the dark on the edge of his driveway, again. I think I speak for the entire neighborhood as I pray God to restore his health and give him back his life, so he can come home.
It's March now. The Daffodils have bloomed and the lengthening days are warm. White blossoms from my pear tree are falling like snow to the ground. I only know how old that tree is because our neighbor told me what year the former owners planted it. Saw his family today and asked how he was doing. They tell me they think he may have had a mini stroke. They shake their heads and talk about how he isn't himself anymore. I'm at a loss for words. He won't be coming home at all. I make an excuse about how I have to get back to the house, to cover the awkwardness I suddenly feel. I'm sure they wonder why I have such an interest. There aren't any words to explain the deep sadness that fills my soul. I have had so few Grandfather figures in my life. My own Grandfather died when I was eight. My other Grandfather lived until I was 28, but he lived a thousand miles away, so I only knew him from afar. Then there was Charlie. An elderly friend of my family, he taught me to love Jesus with my life, not just my lips. Always there for sage advice, even in his eighties and dying of cancer, he very definitely filled the role of surrogate Grandfather while I was growing up and as a young adult.
The kindness in him ruled the day. And it was the same with Billy. I feel the keen loss of his presence as I work in the yard. I miss his wave as he leaves at supper time to get something to eat. Miss talking to him about our houses and our lives. Miss his kind face.
Meanwhile his family and our neighbors band together to keep watch over his house and maintain his yard. And unless something miraculous happens, this will remain the status quo indefinitely.
I watch too, from the upstairs window, while I work at my desk, and rock the baby to sleep. And always, I pray.
Another year. The tree is again showering us with bridal white petals. The days are warm and again lengthening. Last Saturday I visited the nursing home where he now lives. Stopped by his room to say hello. I smiled when I saw him and he definitely recognized me. He is thinner now, confined to the bed, and sporting a tiny beard on his chin. I told him I was keeping an eye on things, and that I never wanted him to worry. Told him I was mowing for him, and then I asked him if we could pray. His head immediately dropped, eyes tightly closed, and I began to pray for him, in person this time. And it was good. Very good.
Summer now, and Billy has gone home. On the quiet ride home from the service, while the Mr. drove, I reflected on the 17 years that we knew him. He never had a frown, never an unkind word. Always had a smile and a wave. I am thankful to have had such a jewel of a neighbor, such a rarity in this day and age. In my mind I will always picture him standing by his roses, giving me a quick wave when he saw me. May I ever attain to be that kind of person, that kind of neighbor, that kind of friend. That will ever be my salute to you, my friend, that I may be even half as kind to others as you were to me all these years. Then I will be doing well.
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