Beyond the FOR SALE Sign

I look out my front door to the "For Sale" sign and for the umteenth time tell myself how relieved I will be when my house sells. Because beyond the sign, I look and see the smiling face of my 79-year-old neighbor, Ed. He is laughing and waving, and telling me how wonderful he feels today and how happy he is to be alive.

I am walking over to bring him some soup I made and sit with him on his front porch to hear stories about the good 'ol days, before computers, cellphones and technology took over. And, we discuss the good movies that are coming up on the Turner Classic movie station. "Have you seen 'The Good Old Summertime' yet?" he asks.
"No, but I watched 'The Little Shop Around the Corner' last night for the third time!" I tell him. "And, I saw 'Roman Holiday!'"
"Is that the one with Audrey Hepburn?" he asks.

And, we talk for a while. I also see him sitting out on his lawn chair, daydreaming into a pink and purple sunset. I see him excited over a bowl of fresh blackberries I have just picked for him. And, I see him feeding his goldfish and telling me about the wonderful breakfast he had that morning with his son. I always see him, smiling and happy, now, moreso than in the past few months when his health went downhill quickly and he couldn't come out quite as often. But, I see myself watering the bushes and I hear a loud knock. I look up at Ed's house and see him tapping on his window, smiling and waving, because even though he can't fully make his way outside, I know he will sit there for hours, watching the birds, trees and flowers and loving the sheer beauty of it all.

I look again at the "For Sale" sign and think how unfair it is that I have to be here now that Ed's gone when I can still see him happy, courageous and dignified up until the very end. I think how unfair it is that his house sits quiet and empty and this street feels so empty now. I realize how sad it is, not so much for Ed, but for me, because instead of being greeted each morning by his old sparkly eyes, silver hair and laughter, it is just quiet and no one is waving. The worst part is that I can see him clearly standing there, in my mind, and telling me stories and petting his cat, but the images are ghostly and not happy and fulfilling like when I could really hear him and laugh with him. I hate death because it is so permanent and so unfair. It takes something away and leaves a big hole where there wasn't one before. I need to put up thicker curtains and lock my door so I won't keep looking out, wishing Ed was over there. But, I know he is and always will be. It is just so painful to see him now in my mind's eye when for so long I took for granted seeing and hearing the real thing, and having him as a real, true friend.