The hearse just pulled up across the street ten minutes ago, and two polite men in white shirts and black ties have just taken the stretcher out of the back after spending a few minutes with the family.
Mr. S isn’t one of the neighbors I have known best, but he was always so nice, and he’s been suffering from cancer for well over a year now. He’s probably not more than fifty-five. Maybe sixty, but that’s still a young man. Just weeks ago, he had a turn for the worse. Family have been here frequently ever since. Just yesterday mom asked me how he was, and I knew it could not be good with all the visitors. I knew he’s been given hospice care.
The stretcher is sitting in hot, bright sunshine, its sheet as vivid and clean as the polite men’s shirts.
And now sweet neighbor hippie boy walks by with his dog. And the body is waiting. One white shirt at the foot, head bowed; the other at the door just for a moment. And now they are off. Soft thump of the door closing.
My prayers are already with his family.
Goodbye, Bill. Peace be with you. And also with your family.
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