We had a man on our street who I knew somewhat because we once went to his house when I was around 6 or so, and each day while waiting for the school bus he'd come out for a second and talk to my sister and I jokingly about us being up to no good. It was an old joke that started when we were little, but I always ended up smiling because he was always so happy that it was infectious.

Well, a few years back his wife went overnight (heart attack), and we didn't see him for almost a year. He eventually came back out, and he was still smiling each time he saw us, still made the same joke, and it seemed like he'd either moved on or at least accepted it, because the joy he showed still looked and felt genuine.

About a year and a half ago, he fell down and went to the hospital. He spent a month in a recuperation facility, and sure enough he eventually came back, and he made the same joke with us. He'd gotten a huge cataract in one eye, but he was still all there, and happy to see us. I was happy to hear he'd gotten better and come back.

Last week he passed away. He'd been having his son or grandson over to help him take care of his property since at least the time he fell, but he'd still seemed okay in terms of general health. It's weird knowing that the house I'd look at each time I passed, and the one I always stood next to as a kid waiting for the bus is empty now. The guy whose small wiener dog bit me when I stuck my hand into the playpen it was in because I hadn't learned dogs could be territorial yet.

I was on a walk with my sister a couple nights ago, and on the way I looked at his mailboxes. Along with the normal one, there was a standard one for newspapers, plastic with a rubber flap that clips on. The clip had fallen off and was lying on the ground. Something didn't feel right about it being there, that he wasn't there to put it back on. So I picked it up, clipped it back on, and we went home.

I'll never forget you, Mr. Nussbaum. You were a great guy, and I wish we could have talked more.