Standing outside, in front of our homes, my neighbor and I had an emotional exchange.  After 28 years, his house is empty.  No beds, no stuff, nothing.  His wife and he were still going to stay – as long as they could – until Friday at 5pm.  For various reasons, they had to sell their home.  Leave our neighborhood.  Let go of what was familiar.

A feeling of sadness came over me.  ”You’ve been the best neighbor,” I said.  ”I am sorry that we never had you over for dinner.”  Seriously, that was what came out of my mouth.  In the eleven years since I have lived here, I have not had dinner with this man or his family.  But I knew they were there.  Took comfort in knowing they were good people.  And honestly, I figured I would do it “soon.”

“Life goes by in a blink,” he said.  “All of a sudden, you have grey hair, wrinkles, your kids are gone, and life is not how you thought it would be.”   Tears stung my eyes.  My kids are not gone, but life is definitely not how I thought it would be at this point in my life.  But then again, I am grateful for so much.

“All change is for the better,” he continued, pulling himself out of his own reflective moment, “at least that is what a friend of mine keeps telling me.”

“Please come by with your wife,” I said, hugging him.  ”Come for dinner.”  I meant this.  I really meant this.

“You’ll see,” he said, a smile finally crossing his face, eyes lighting up, glimmering with the faint recession of tears, “because of this (physical) separation, we will see each other more.  Odd how life works out that way.”