Albert Across the Street Dies

I went to my house yesterday to shovel more snow from the driveway and remove nails and screws from some old louvered shutters so I could set them out for trash collection. I hadn't been to the house since I'd shoveled out a path to the front door for the mailman and a place for the car a few days ago. I had to go because it was the day the mail delivery resumed.

I was surprised to see an empty yellow recycling container in the path to the door, but I decided to figure out why after I shoveled and took care of the nails and screws in the shutters. (I didn't know what local ordinance I'd be violating if I didn't remove protruding nails and screws, but I wasn't interested in learning about it either.)

So after all that I trotted across the street to see Carol, the neighborhood busybody (her own description). When I rang the bell, I saw the blinds blink, but I didn't hear Albert's growl telling Carol that I was at the door.

I started to describe the recycling bin, when Carol said, "You didn't hear?" Carol usually starts with a mock complaint or an accusation. ("Back from your secret mission?" or "Well, hello stranger.") Something was wrong: Albert wasn't in his chair. The TV was off.

Albert had died in his sleep over a week ago.

There had been a going away party for a fellow headed for Afghanistan. Afterward Al had gone drinking with his boys and Carol had headed home. The next morning before she headed off to church, he'd asked her for some chocolate milk, his usual morning after drink. When she came back, she could see that he'd had the chocolate milk. She went into the bedroom to ask if he wanted another, but couldn't rose him. He was gone.

The police and EMS came. Because he died at home, toxicology tests have to be performed. It'll be several months before Carol can get widows benefits because those are dependent on a death certificate, and the death certificate won't be issued until all the toxicology reports are in.

Carol handled the household accounts so she knows how much money she has and what she can afford, but it's all the unnoticed things he did in his part of their marriage which see sees now. Carol, for example, never put gas in her car. Al always did that. (It reminded me of a friend who misread her utility meters the first time after her husband's death. "So that's what guys do." she told me. (She'd always wondered.) That thought seems especially timely: my friend and here husband were getting ready for bed on Valentines Day when he collapsed right before her eyes. He too was a nice guy.)

Carol said that people came over and said just ask if you need anything, bu tshe'd been there as one of the people saying the same thing. And after a while everyone else goes on with their life, not through callousness, but because life has to be lived.

Carol and the FBI (her next door neighbor) tried to reach me by phone, but as I don't have a home phone, cell phone and I occasionally forget to put fresh batteries in my beeper, they never reached me. Carol said that Albert's friend's came in groups: his post office buddies, although he'd been retired for 14 years, his biker friends, and his bar friends.

Al had a lot of friends for the simple reason that he was a nice guy. He looked out for me because he was a neighbor. It was a simple as that.