On Saturday morning the EMT, fire truck and ambulance came for my next-door neighbor, a member of Generation X. When they carried him from his apartment, down the two flights, he was unconscious. His color that of the sheets. I was unhinged.
Through the property manager I had his sister notified. That meant that his two pumpkin-colored cats would be taken care of. When I peeked through the blinds, they seemed freaked out.
When I met his sister, I realized how much I had learned about this man as well as his family. Yet, he and I had never spoken together on a smartphone, sent emails to each other, texted, or exchanged photos on Facebook.
Our relationship was totally face-to-face. Every evening a little after 5 P.M. he would climb up the stairs, returning from his technical job. I would be heading down to walk my animal companion Lee. That's how we attached.
That friendship began when I moved into this complex in April 2014. It may be a short one, tragically so. His sister said my friend had not regained consciousness, was on a ventilator, and had a 50 percent chance of living. As yet, they don't know why his body went into shut-down.