Memorial Service

Sister lives a community of, short of a thousand, except on the weekends when the town swells in size with temporary residents.

In the course of a couple of weeks, I met around 400, “Next door neighbors.” Even with dense, inner-city housing, I couldn’t work that out. Much less in a rural Coastal California town.

“We live next door,” what I heard. What I heard at least 400 times.

At the memorial, I was introduced to a number of people I’d met before, but — ah c’mon people — how many people can live “right next door?” 5 houses. That’s near a hundred a house.

Maybe a tenth of that showed up for the Friday Memorial Service, with long-lost friends and co-workers showing up from far-flung locales.

Personally, I get why people live there. It’s gorgeous. Never hot, never really cold — damn near freezing by my standards — but still a very special place.

I know, I get it. Not my cup of tea, but certainly understandable.

One of the people who showed up was the last oncologist they were seeing. Remarkable doctor, mentioned much in the narrative form of this story.

He showed up. He shared a few words. He shed a tear. He hugged me, like, three times or more.

That, that one doctor? That is the future of medicine if we are to survive as a species. he added a much-needed human touch.

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