Tuesday, February 10, 2009
A Presence Next Door
A sad thing happened at the house next to us. We weren't home longer than an hour last night when we heard a knock at the door. It was the man from down the street, who told us our next-door neighbor was killed in a paragliding accident near Pacifica. Today it's a top story in the local papers, the local news. There's something poignant (but completely expected) about having been here for five weeks and not ever having seen him, even though we were well aware of a presence next door. The huge live oak, the swing hanging from the huge live oak, the orange tree, the lights in the second story windows: these signposts of his have helped to make us feel a little at home here, as most of our windows face his front yard. Earlier today, a car pulled up in his driveway, and young children--his children?--came running out onto the grass, laughing. It's been quiet since then. The windows are dark tonight.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
I'm sorry to hear that. This strange nodal living style of so many of us leaves us isolated, yet intimately connected to what goes on around us. The desire for a sense of community, or at least an aesthetic sense of home can take a sudden turn into the uncanny. I remember growing up as a small child in a house near neighbors that had been mentally handicapped in a car accident, and my parents protected me from being around them because they had a tendancy to walk around naked and act unpredictably and violently. None of this I knew until I was much older.
The catastrophic loss of life, and particularly learning the intimate details of someone's life - like how he met his wife and apparently named his firstborn after the place that they met or made some connection - feels almost like a strange intrusion into something sacred. I hope the family handles this well and that you are able to also. Least of all do I wish ever to have the kind of luck of the fisherman that made this discovery.
Hi Will, thank you for your thoughtful, kind comment. I know what you mean about the "intrusion into something sacred"--that's very well said. I think of those kids every time I look over and see those dark windows. Now that house feels like a memorial.
Post a Comment