When the Neighbor Departs

Today my heart feels the sadness of life gone by.

Our dear neighbor Jerry died this week. There was no neighborhood notice or phone tree to inform us. I learned of it by the pop up estate sale at his home today. No sign posted for that either – just a notice on an online marketplace ad. The cul de sac was filled with cars. I was hoping it was for a surprise birthday party or family gathering. Instead, just the end of Jerry and the end of him being or neighbor.

He was the quiet and humble man that was the warm presence at the mailbox. He loved caring for his yard and I loved visiting with him there. He was kind to all of our kids. He and most of the guys in my neighborhood long retired from Boeing.

I did not know it for our first three years living next door, but he was the care giver for his wife who was bed ridden. He never said a word. Just quietly and lovingly caring for his wife at home – never asking for a thing – just humbly living and loving and serving with each breath.

Someone at the estate sale just blurted out to the cashier, “How did he die and what was his name?” A simply reply, “Jerry – cancer – care center the last week of his life.”

I also never knew that he had cancer. That makes me even sadder. I wish I could have done something for him. I wish I could have helped in his time of need. In my quietness, I reflect that perhaps that’s my need and not his.

I am going to miss Jerry. Life is like that. It is here and then it is gone. The older I get the more my heart grieves these losses. They add up – they multiply – they are heavy – they hurt so much. Heart ache with sighs too deep for words.

I did purchase a few items of this quickly thrown together estate sale. They loved cats so Jewel now has a small knitted cat picture and the cutest cat fan. I have a drawing easel. A few seashells for the yard. His bleeding heart plant. A salmon bowl. Little glimpses of the grace of Jerry and Marjorie’s life. Little reminders of our quiet and humble neighbor.

Yesterday I shared communion with a dear friend on the one year anniversary of his wife’s death. With his wife’s ashes – a simple rose – two wafers – and two small cups of wine – we prayed and held on to grace. A sacred moment in time to pause – and remember.

I found these words today from my doctorate professor deeply meaningful – I hope you do too.

Getting Out of the Way (from Leonard Sweet)

Sometimes the holiest thing we can do is move aside.
Yesterday, one of my former students Sandra Paran, now a hospice chaplain (and Facebook friend and Substack subscriber), was praying at the bedside of a woman nearing her final breath. As she whispered the words of Jesus—

“I go to prepare a place for you… that where I am, you may be also” —

the woman quietly slipped from this life into the next.

Later someone said, “You just happened to be there when she died?” And Sandra replied, “No. God put me there. . . . Oh, to do God’s work—to simply get out of the way and make that possible. What an honor.”

Sandra nailed it. There is no higher calling than to serve as a doorway for grace, to stand still enough for God’s presence to move through you, to love so gently that heaven feels near.

To serve God is to let God serve through you—
to be present, not performing; available, not in control.
When we step aside, healing happens.
When we get out of the way, God finds a way.

Prayer for Today:
Lord of Life and Love,
teach us the grace of holy absence—
to step aside so You may step in.
Make our hands gentle enough for healing,
our hearts wide enough for heaven,
and our presence still enough
for Your presence to be felt.
Let us serve You by serving others,
until every act of love becomes
a thin place where You pass through.
Amen.