Last night, Chuck, my next door neighbor passed away unexpectedly. He wasn’t even 70.

When I first heard, I noticed I felt mostly unaffected. Almost as if floating out of body, looking at myself, seeing the “well, shit” reaction crossing my own face. I guess that’s why it’s called shock. He had just been out mowing the yard yesterday. I saw him driving around in his old red pickup the day before that. He was always on the go. And now he’s just… gone. It’s only now really sinking in.

He was an ornery old fuck, a retired sheriff deputy, working across the road at the gun range in his retirement. Got away with more than most, probably. Always lit his bootleg fireworks in the cul de sac every 4th of July. Hah, I remember one year the police actually came out and he told them “oh, they’re just sparklers.” … And the fireworks continued.

I won’t pretend I was super close with Chuck or that I knew him more than casually, but he was the first person to truly make me feel at home, like part of the neighborhood, when I bought this house. It had really low water pressure and he crawled underneath the house with me to check the pressure switch on the well controller.

I hate this part of being an adult. The cost of building connections in life is becoming the keeper of more and more absences as it goes on. What a shitty bargain.

Damn. Rest in Peace, Chuck.