Vernon has been dipping in and out of my consciousness lately in a different way than usual. He hasn’t been as present as the early days, but just like I’d been warned by those who journeyed this road before, one should never be surprised when the grief and/or memories show up. In these moments, it’s almost palpable…at the least, like a sci-fi hologram. I was about to close up the other house the other day, doing the last bits of cleaning, and all of a sudden, with mop in hand, I leaned against the stove and looked out on the empty kitchen. I could imagine Vernon as if he were also there, leaning back on the opposite counter. It’s rare that I speak out to him, but it does happen, and those moments can be cathartic.

Just when I think I’ve made peace with his absence…that’s when he shows up. Or rather, another piece of myself shows up—a piece that still needs closure or healing or whatever—sometimes that is even more shocking than the ghost-talk. In this moment, I was able to more deeply say goodby to the memories in that house—a house he never visited himself, a home that brought the rest of our little family through a difficult season. So many good things happened there as well, but I can’t forget that he was hit on the same corner we drove out from every day. It was ALL there: the good, bad, the ugly, and the beautiful.

Now we are embarking on a new season. And just as life seems to go, things are difficult in different ways. I admonished the Vernon of that kitchen day for leaving me alone to cope with all of it without him. But I also know that what he taught me has helped me cope, so there is that. I also understood in that moment that we’d surely be a different couple now (if he’d lived) than we were five years ago. We were a different couple at every stage of his life after the accident, so there is no way of knowing who we would be now. Trying to imagine it is like losing a thread in a tapestry: impossible.

A few days earlier, while I was still in the slow stages of  moving out/clearing out, a crew of fireman rushed to the door. My friend Mary and I sent them next door to the correct address. Not long after, we heard the news that our neighbor Jack had passed away in his sleep. Jack was the last (and only) neighbor to say goodby to us on moving day, and waving from our shared mailbox patch, he said: ” Oh bummer, you are moving! I was hoping to hear more music from the teenagers  in the garage. I loved that.” Jack was the first neighbor we met when we moved in nearly 4 years before. He was fun to talk to, and though he couldn’t hear well, he always had a surfer’s stoked smile, a wave…he was always up for connecting. I used to send Justine next door first if we needed to ‘borrow’  anything like milk or sugar. Actually, Jack was the only neighbor I had any basic conversations with at all…it was not a community-spirit street.

I went back to finish the work at the house a couple days later. On my way out to the car, Jack’s son (that I’d never yet met) crossed the lawn to chat. He was so sad, but he clearly wanted to connect. He wanted to show me a video on his phone: his dad in his fun and glorious heyday. He’d only discovered this video when someone had sent it his way the day his dad died. He’d never seen it in in all the years he’d been online, but since he’d received it, he’d watched it one hundred times. It was great to see him young.

I remember how we too had discovered a video of Vernon speaking about his font work in Istanbul (of all faraway places) the day he went into hospice. We couldn’t believe the timing either. Some things, I guess, we aren’t meant to find till the right time. It was eerie that two strangers had such similar technological experiences in thier time of loss.

So its with added sadness that our family left that street—an extravagant end to an era. Now both Jack and Vernon were the bookends: yet another reminder that life (and death) happens when/where you least expect it. I hate to make this a recurring theme, but sorry…its my experience now.

Jack’s son invited us to the paddle-out for his dad next month. We won’t be here…we’ll be in Hawaii, of all places. But I told him that if I have a chance, I’ll take a moment in the shared-Pacific water to remember our lovely neighbor. Here is the video Jack’s son showed me. He told me his parents had met at age 15 (mom is in video too) so things will be hard/surreal for her for awhile. 🙁  RIP Jack Baxter. We are tied to you forever…like all our best memories of the best people. Thank you for gracing us with your smile..

Over and out Avenida Cornelio. We are grateful for our stay. After all, where would we be without you?