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Father bids farewell to kind neighbor

October 24, 2019

As published in the Daily Hampshire Gazette, October 23, 2019

For more than eight years our family has called Sumner Avenue home. Located a short walk from the many conveniences of Florence Center, and along the bike path, which our family uses daily, this one-block neighborhood is a gem. More than 20 kids from this block and nearby houses have buzzed about the street and adjoining yards these past years, offering a steady stream of activity and laughter, leaving my wife Lori and I delighted to be raising our Zoe and Adam in such a tight knit neighborhood.

Throughout our time here — and long before — our immediate neighbor, Mike Ryan, has been an anchor for this little community. Mike grew up on this street, eventually moved out of the house and then, more than a decade ago, returned to his childhood home to live with his aging parents, where he remained after their passing. Now, a week after Mike’s abrupt and untimely death, we are all feeling the absence of his soft and kind presence.

With great pride, Mike maintained his property impeccably. His garage was a well-kept, orderly workshop, functioning as a base of operations for maintaining his house and completing minor car repairs. Year-round, he was visible to all as he mowed his lawn, trimmed the bushes, gathered fall leaves and cleared snow off his drive. He seemed to find purpose and joy in these activities — perhaps, in honor to his parents or to help maintain the appearance of the neighborhood or to keep physically active — maybe all three.

But it was much more than a well-kept yard and house that endeared our family to Mike. Rather, he became an extended family member — an uncle next door — who generously supported us, in countless little ways, making our lives a bit easier and richer.

When we traveled, Mike often made sure that our backyard chickens had fresh water and plenty of food. After nor’easters pummeled us, Mike would employ his snow blower to clear the mounds of hardened snow left by city plows at the ends of neighboring driveways. Often, when one of our cars required repair, he shuttled Lori or I to or from our mechanic’s garage. He delighted in walking Zoe and Adam, in their younger years, to the school bus stop and back when, on occasion, work schedules interfered with our parenting duties. He generously loaned me use of his tools whenever I was in need, including a standing agreement that I could grab the extension ladder, lawn mower, snow blower or other items without asking, going so far as to give me a key to his garage to make this all the easier.

Over the years, though, Mike’s chronic ailments slowed him down. A neighbor boy, Rohin, began to mow his lawn. Our son, Adam, shoveled his snow this past season, and recently knocked on Mike’s door asking permission to rake his leaves this fall. We routinely brought him homemade baked goods, produce from our garden and fresh eggs, both in gratitude for his generosity, and as a way to stay connected, keeping a watchful eye, along with other neighbors, on his health, especially since he lived alone.

This past summer, while routinely chatting over the picket fence that separates his drive and our garden, Mike confided to me that he was considering selling his home and moving to an apartment. He said it was becoming more difficult to maintain his house and yard and that he did not want to wait until it was too much for him to handle, but at the same time, he noted, “I love this neighborhood, and don’t want to leave it.”

Days before we found Mike lying on his front porch, clinging to life in the chilly morning air, I picked the final tomatoes of the season and knocked on his door. He thanked me, promising to put the tomatoes to good use. We briefly chatted about the weather and seasonal changes, as we have so often done, then I was on my way, unaware that it was to be our final conversation.

Now his house is empty, his car sits unmoved in the drive, and we miss him. Struggling with the knowledge that he will not return home, we cling to memories of his daily presence on Sumner Avenue. At the dinner table our family shared stories about the many ways that Mike was a special person in the life of our family and neighborhood. Lori recalled that a few years ago she met a woman, who upon learning where we live, asked, “Does Mikey Ryan still live over there?” The woman was Mike’s kindergarten teacher, who fondly recalled that in her class — more than 50 years ago — he was a sweet, kind boy. Now, and for years to come, we too — our family and neighborhood — will recall Mike as sweet and kind.

John Engel of Florence can be reached through his website fatherhoodjourney.com.

 

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