Mr. Wilson

My neighbor Mr. Wilson died today.

When my mom called with the bad news, I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. Mr. Wilson hadn't aged in the fifteen years I've known him. There was no way...

I remember as kids how overjoyed my sisters and I were to find out that our new neighbor's name was Mr. Wilson-- just like Denis the Menice. It was something we'd giggle about to this very day. Mr. Wilson was a lot like the cartoon: an elderly gentleman married to the kindest lady on the planet. He had admitted to my mom that he was not a big fan of kids, and especially not teenagers... but also said my sisters and I had found a special place in his heart.

He was a wonderful man, an adopted Grandfather of sorts. Not only had our family grown to love him, but even our dogs loved him. Every dog we have had in this house (we are on numbers 3 and 4) knew instinctively where to go to get a free handout- probably some leftover meat he knew they never got in our vegetarian household.

I have so many fond memories of Mr. Wilson. Whenever my Dad was at sea he would help my mom with anything she needed, and whenever Mrs. Wilson was away my mom would bring him dinner- often his favorite- homemade lentil soup. I remember one occassion where he was helping my mom, sisters, and I move one of our live Christmas trees into the house, weighing about 350lbs. The poor guy threw his back out (not that we found out about it until Mrs. Wilson accidently spilled the beans). He would always kid my Dad about how full his hands were in a house full of women.

I will miss his generous spirit, his full laugh, his warm grin, and his eager wave whenever I pulled in the driveway when I came home from college. A sports fan, he always supported my track career; I can remember him out in the front yard with my Dad watching me throw the shot put on a number of occassions. It makes it even more appropriate, for lack of a better term, that he peacefully passed while watching ESPN.

I will think of him everytime I roll down the driveway.