I moved last year. Out of state. Not far from my last home—only forty minutes without traffic—but far enough to change how I operate in my life. There are people, and the services they provided, whom I’ll never know again.

I lived twenty-one years in my last home. I knew my neighbors. I had plumbers and electricians on speed dial.  (Does anyone really have speed dial anymore?) In a minute flat, I could recommend someone who had any skill you’d need as a homeowner.

The house finally sold last month, and I paid the last snowplowing bill. My neighbor whom I had hired about ten years ago sent a handwritten note to my new address with the bill.  He wrote “Have a wonderful life.”

He and I have no reason to continue to know each other.  We have our own lives, and we never socialized locally when we had the chance. I don’t even know if we had anything in common except for the neighborhood.

But I knew his character.  One Halloween, after the rush of trick or treaters had stopped, I walked my dog for his evening constitution and came across a broken down car with a young couple and two small kids.  They had driven into my neighborhood for the safe, old fashioned experience of ringing doorbell after doorbell. Their car wasn’t starting, and I called my road service to jump start them.  

The snowplow man was also out walking, on his way to pick up his kids at a party.  I was already on the opposite side of the street—so he didn’t notice me—when he saw the young family and asked if he could help. I heard them say that someone had already called a service.  He responded, “Well, if you’re still here on my way back, I’ll go get my jumper cables.”

Kindness and a generous heart are never forgotten even if the face is no longer seen.  Jeremy, I wish you too a wonderful life.