Dashing to the mailbox at the end of the sidewalk without a coat or hat on a cold early November day, I heard the voice from across the street. “Where is your coat?! Where is your hat?! You are gonna get sick!” I knew before I even glanced across the street it was Ron retrieving his mail and being the concerned neighbor he always was. I laughed and waved and as I ran down the walk back to the house, I yelled, “I’m only getting the mail. I’ll be fine, Ron. Have a good day.” As I closed the door, he was waving back, smiling and just shrugging his shoulders. That scene was repeated often over the years. Reminded me of my dad who was always lecturing me about not dressing warm enough when I was only going out to get the mail or newspaper. Dad was in Heaven now and, as he looked down, I am sure he was shaking his head in agreement with Ron.

I’ve lived in this neighborhood for well over 40 years, and although I can’t remember exactly how long ago Ron and his family moved in, it was also several decades ago. I’ve watched his kids grow up and have kids of their own who are now young adults. We had many enjoyable conversations over the years about loads of topics from simple to complex, from funny to serious, from the weather to the Pirates and Steelers to the never ending summer road work, to the problems with grass and shrubs, etc. He loved people — definitely a people person who struck up a conversation about anything, anywhere, with anybody.

He had a great sense of humor and got a big kick out of teasing you and making you laugh with his silly jokes. He would laugh just as hard as you and he seemed to be happy making people happy. He was a bus driver whose bus load of tired workers at the end of the day was a happy place to be as he entertained us with humor while navigating big city rush hours complicated by accidents ahead, heavy rains or major snowstorms. He cared about his passengers, inquiring about a sick family member or a kid who graduated from high school or cautioning how to safely depart down the steps and cross the street. His humor and caring continued in retirement as he delivered meds and supplies to senior citizen facilities or homebound customers of a local pharmacy.

He was a caretaker of both people and his meticulously mowed and weedless lawn. Weeds knew they were not welcome, but should they try to sneak in, he could spot them a mile away and shortened their lifespan without haste. He looked out for neighbors in so many ways retrieving their mail and newspapers and rolling away garbage cans, delivering all safely to each respective door or garage, or helping a sick neighbor who had fallen. He helped direct traffic when utility companies, road pavers, tree trimmers, etc. created an obstacle course for our already narrow street. He helped the crews clean up as they completed the work and inspected the yards and street after they left just in case something was missed in the process. I remember a few winters, when both of us were much younger and road crews were slow to treat our street, he and I worked together to clear a path across the road between our driveways so our cars could more easily get a running start in the middle of an upgrade.

Our neighborhood was all the better for Ron being a part of it and, now, Heaven is all the better as he takes up residence there. I will miss all the things I mentioned about Ron, but I will miss the waves and smiles the most. We would always smile and wave to each other if we couldn’t talk, whether it was from yard to yard or cars departing or from window to window as we both watched windy rainstorms blow everything around or snow pile up a lot faster and higher than either of us wished for. As his health declined, his appearance in the yard or at the door or window became less and less. It would always make my day when he would briefly appear and he would smile and wave back. I knew that eventually one of those would be the last time. It came a few weeks ago when I caught a glimpse of him at the door, smiled and waved. He weakly waved back and slightly smiled. Made my day and broke my heart at the same time.

I will miss the waving and smiling but I expect that one cold day when I dash out for the mail without a coat, I just might hear Pete’s and Ron’s voices from above, “Where is your coat?! Where is your hat?! You’re gonna get sick!” And, as I run back to the house, I will look up, smile and wave and say. “I’m only getting the mail, guys. I’ll be fine! Have a good day!” And, as I close the door, I’d like to think they are smiling and waving back to me while they shake their heads.

Peace,
Kathy Marie