Going Home, for Real

My neighbor Jim went home 3 days ago, in a hospital bed surrounded by his family.

As long as I can remember, Jim has always been there, next door, with his wife Jan.  I was 2 when my parents moved to our Arcadia home, in a neighborhood that was still predominantly white.  (Things have changed drastically since; just google the name of the city and you'll understand why).  Jim extended friendship and kindness to us, and my brother and I grew up with the security of knowing that there lived next door to us people who cared about and loved us.  That means a lot to an immigrant family that doesn't have relatives nearby.

Almost every Christmas, we'd visit, either in their living room or ours.  Most of the time, we'd walk over to their house, bringing our instruments for some Christmas music.  They'd serve cookies and egg nogg, and after we finished playing we'd chat pleasantly with them in between bites.  That was always the highlight of my holiday season.

But it wasn't just over the holidays that we interacted with our neighbors.  Jim always knocked on our front door whenever there was some kind of fire warning for the mountains nearby.  He gave Felix odd jobs to do around his house, and last year he invited me to volunteer with him once a month on Saturdays.  One year, when Dad was away for work and Mom and I were the only ones at home (Felix lived and worked about 2 hours away), he took our trash cans in and out for each week's trash pickups, telling us "this is a man's job" and that we were not to worry about it.

Jim was a well-educated man, not snobby, but the epitome of uprightness and decency.  He spoke kindly and honestly, and though always a bit reserved in manner, he always looked out for us with genuine warmth.  Whenever we bumped into him in our front yards, he would ask us questions about our life and remember to follow up on things we had told him about previously.  I have fond memories of going out to dinner or dessert with him and his wife, because anytime he knew I was staying at home alone, he'd take the time to treat me to a meal.  He was the best neighbor we could have ever asked for, and he knew us in a way that even our family and close friends did not.

Over the last 18 months, as Jim courageously staved off cancer, I got to play music for him on several occasions.  I even met members of his family as they came to visit.  I played for him one last time this Christmas season, just 24 hours before he passed.  Before the hospital visit concluded, he gave each member of my family a parting hug and a kiss.  Even in his final stretch of life, he reached out to bless us with his kindness.

Jim's death was sobering, and I will probably grieve for a good while.  But it was also a profound and strangely comforting event.  It is an honor to be with someone at the end of their life and have the opportunity to have enough quality time to say goodbye. Jim lived a good life, and he also had a good death.  My family was so privileged to be a small part of both, and I will always strive to carry out his legacy of kindness, wherever I go.