Stopped by the old house this afternoon to say hi to Zippy, to find out that there had been a fire in the old neighborhood. Down at the far end of the street, a man in his 50s died of smoke inhalation. The fire was extinguished quickly, although it severely damaged the house; the first foor bedroom collapsed into the basement.
I never formally met Anthony Varjabedian; although we had a passing acquaintance. He was often sitting outside his home, or working outside as I drove past on my way to the office. In the summer, Zippy and I would walk the dogs past his house, or I'd ride my bike or scooter past, and he'd wave in the way that neighbors will. We never spoke, except for perhaps a quick hello. (Edit: and reading through some of the news reports, he was apparently disabled / mute. So of course we never spoke.....) It is only now that I know his name.
Not sure why but this unexpected death has hit me a little hard. One day here, one day gone. I wonder of the story of his life. Did he ever marry? Did he ever love? How did he come to live alone? And how did our lives come as close as to wave, but not close enough to intersect, to introduce ourselves?
Strange world we all live in.....