First my parents moved to the neighborhood in 1963, then I was born a few years later. Then, I moved out only to move back in a few short years later upon the death of my parents. We've shared food, picnics, and general neighborly love.
I'll never forget the day in November when Mr. Gable knocked on my door to tell me his wife had died and he broke down in tears. Next week at this time, he will have left his life long home to move cross country to live with his daughter and son-in-law.
The weirdest thing is that I probably will never see him again. It'll be like a death but he will not have died.
I had a farewell dinner for him last Sunday. My family and some other neighbors joined in. I think he was really touched. I hope he was. He is probably one of the nicest people you ever want to meet. Soft-spoken, even tempered, adored his wife.
I used to love to hear them talk about how they met here in Harrisburg back in the 40's. There were dance halls and he used the line that he was related to Clark Gable as a way to talk to her. He bought himself a bike at 70 and would ride over to the community pool for a swim in the summer. She made the best pirogi!
I can't imagine what it must be like to see your entire house full of memories emptied before your eyes in a matter of weeks, saying goodbye to your barber, neighbors, church friends. All of whom you have known for many years.
You always hear people say "it's tough getting old." The reality is we have no idea how tough it really is, until we live it. And we'll all float on, alright.
