They seem like a nice enough couple, quiet, much like everybody else in this neighborhood where everybody pretty much keeps to themselves. They looked to be enjoying the later years of life, gardening in the summer, a little smoke coming from the chimney in winter, now and then a leisurely walk around the block.
A wave, quick hello when somebody walks by is business as usual here, not much more than that for the most part, and people seem to like it that way. They have company now and then, a few cars, some lights on in the backyard later than usual, ten at the latest, then back to darkness. I probably wouldn't know either of them out of the context of the neighborhood, and most likely pass them by in the local markets without acknowledging their presence, More likely than not, they don't recognize me, either.
I haven't seen them in a few months, but didn't really pay attention until yesterday, when twenty or so cars lined the street in front of their home. A large number of cars in front of a house in suburbia on a weekday afternoon does not bode well for the people who live there.
Funny, I don't even know their names, so I couldn't check the obituary page to see which one won't be waving to me when I walk past their home. Which one will I not see in the market? Which one is gone forever.
People live so close to me I could shout their name, if I knew it, from my yard and they could hear me, but I don't know their name, or their story, or their struggles. I heard sirens in the middle of the night a few days ago, a rarity here, and wondered from the safety of my bed what was going on. Then I rolled over and went back to sleep, and my neighbor was rolled out of his or her home for the last time.