My neighbor died last week. It was a Monday morning – the start of a new work week. He put a bundle of sticks he had collected from around his yard out on the curb for the garbage collection. He had made his lunch for work, which was found on the kitchen counter. Then at some point, he sat down at his kitchen table and collapsed. That’s where he was found. When he didn’t show up for work, someone at his job called his brother, who was his emergency contact. He was always the first one there, she said, so when he didn’t show up, we knew something was wrong. The next thing you know, there was mayhem on the street with police and ambulances and eventually, sadly, the coroner.

He was only 63 years old. Seems way too young. He never married. Never had children. There were no pets. He did have siblings, nieces, and nephews who came around to visit him. But overall, it seemed he lived a solitary life. His funeral was low-key, but attendance was notable.

He kept to himself, like most of us do in this quiet, unassuming neighborhood. Said hello and would make some small talk from time to time. You would see him outside doing yard work or washing his car. We would exchange Christmas cards every year and at Christmas he would put a huge lighted star on top of the garage which marked the sign of the season for everyone on the block. He ushered at church each week at the same Mass and volunteered at different events. He went to work at the same time and returned at the same hour as well. He was just part of the rhythm of the neighborhood. Not that everyone watches what everyone else is doing, but you just notice people’s comings and goings as you are busy going about yours.

There is a void on our street now. I look over at his house and car, which has been parked in the same spot in the driveway, and it’s a lonely site. The house is dark. There’s no more activity. Just his siblings from time to time cleaning out the house and putting bags out for the garbage collection. They’ll be no star at Christmas this year, although one of the neighbors has commented that he would like to claim it and continue the tradition on his own. I’m assuming his house will eventually go up for sale. Someone will move in. A different rhythm will blend in with the others. People will move on with their lives.

Most of us never do remarkable things, command attention, or make big waves. Most of us, just like him, go about the day to day of life just trying to do the best we can with what we have when we can. There are no banners or bells or whistles to this essay. I just felt the need to pause and recognize the life of a good, decent human being who was a valued member of this modest little neighborhood. He will be missed.