The Doorbell Rings...

The Doorbell doesn't actually ring because the F*$%ing doorbell is broken like everything else in this 100 year old house.

Inside, there is a 3 year old that will go 10 days without taking a crap and a 3 month old that will scream if he goes 3 seconds without being held. And if the 3 month old goes 3 seconds without being held, ironically, he will take a crap.

But still the doorbell rings...but really it doesn't, because it's broke, so instead an old man stands there repetitively pushing the doorbell and we come to the door...as if, it's working. But it's not.

Nothing really is these days. That's a very different story.

I open the door. It must be frightening for the old man.

There is a shrill from the back room. Lucy, our 3 year old has been given the ultimatum, either she uses the bathroom herself or it's the suppository (we call it medicine)...she says she will go herself, but truth be told, it's the suppository...and it's a massive movement. I actually had to lay out a beach towel, not just a towel. And open a 100 year old window. I still love you sweetheart, but it was bad. But I still love you.

It was a "great job" as she says.

Holy $h!t.

But I regress. I answer the door, and I'm stern because anytime I see an old man at my door I assume he's either selling solar leases or windows, or air-conditioning...or all 3. We live on a busy street in an old house with equity, it's common.

He starts, off, "My name is Thomas, I used to live here with my family."

Thomas is about 70 years old, slight of frame, showing the usual dry skin of old age and has that grandfatherly aura about him. He looks at me and says, "I like what you have done with the place. It used to be brown."

I smile, he's not a salesman, he's an old man. Who used to live here. And I've still got plans to get out of the house with the kids. We're all in such a rush these days.

Despite the chaos, I invite him in. I live in So Cal, but I'm still a Virginian at heart.

"Thomas, come on in, you used to live here, let me give you the tour."

This is common when you own an old house in Olde Escondido, keep in mind, on the East Coast old houses are common place. But here they are treated as relics.

Thomas walks into my house and I introduce him to my wife Sara, my daughter Lucy and my son Jack. He stands a minute, taking it all in and smiles. He waves like old men do to little children, trying to capture just a little bit of that youthful energy. It's the wave/cupping action that is somewhat awkward but works for old men. It works for Thomas because Lucy smiles and Jack thinks he's great.

"Thomas, let me show you around, a lot has changed since you lived here 13 years ago."

I show him Lucy's room, our addition, the landscaped backyard, the pavers and the new outdoor living space...tell him about our plans to finish the garage, and finally we arrive outside.

He's smiling the whole time, muttering "I love what you have done with the place."

Finally, in our backyard, my two mutts are jumping all over this gentleman...Charlie and Suerte, both around 6 and 7 years old and both knowing better than to ever jump. But both relishing the opportunity to ravish a stranger. Thomas holds strong, he's smiling, he's a good, strong guy. A man's man.

In the backyard, he points to the barbecue pit. "Did you finally refinish that?"

"No, we let it be, truth be told we are thinking long term about getting rid of it."

"So did we."

Thomas sights the old swing on the 150 year old California Live Oak Tree...

"It's still there."

"Yep, Lucy swings on it everyday....she loves it."

Finally, he lays eyes on the orange tree. There he holds his gaze a moment.

I look at him. He's gone silent. So I break it...

"You know as well as I do Thomas, those are the best oranges in the region, would you like to get a bag?" He turns to me and says, "I thought you would never ask."

"Careful Thomas, I cleaned the yard yesterday, but we have 2 healthy dogs, not telling what landmines are around." As we walk back toward the tree across the lawn.

"I have a poodle, I know how that goes."

We arrive to the back edge of the property at the orange tree. Thomas looks at it with great admiration.

"Mark, you have done a great job on this tree."

"I arranged the irrigation to hit it everyday, but luckily the root system hit a watershed, so we are flush. Year over Year, I have too many oranges to deal with. But Lucy and I make homemade organic orange juice twice a year by hand."

I'm proud of my Orange and Avocado Trees. My only apologies was that because of the drought, the size of the fruit was smaller than usual.

"That's normal Mark, it comes and goes in waves."

"You know, Irene loved this tree. She loved this house."

"It's a special place."

"Irene called it her Pony House. She loved the trees, she loved the oranges, this was her dream house."

"It's a special place."

"I never come to Escondido anymore, ever since Irene got sick. But today, we buried her, and I drove by her old house and I had to come and see who was living in it."

You never know what you have, until it's gone, then all you want, is what you had, back again.

A small tear showed in the corner of Thomas's eye, then he smiled.

I don't know if I passed a test or if he got something off his chest. It was that kind of moment. So I kept silent.

We then talked about the neighbors, the neighborhood, the home, the oranges, we talked about everything.

We walked back to my house and I explained to my wife that Thomas had just lost his wife...he stood there in our living room. There wasn't pain, there wasn't shock, there was just denial, and you can argue that denial is the best place.

But as I stood next to him, holding his little bag of oranges, I felt his pain. I gave him a hug. Here, 20 minutes ago he's a salesman at the door, and 20 minutes later he's getting a hug. That's a good salesman.

I take him out to the front porch and talk about our home, our plans, how we have remodeled and what we plan to do. In that moment he stops me.

Here's a man, before me, very wealthy, very healthy, very Thomas, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that he would give everything he had to switch places with me.  He sees the baby in the arms, the young toddler crying, the mess that is having both kids at home and not being able to clean up fast enough.

He smiles. I can feel what he's thinking.

"I don't take this for granted. I know how lucky I am."

"You are blessed."

"I am, thank you."

He picks up his bag of oranges and heads for the door, turns and says...

"Goodbye Lucy. Goodbye Jack. Goodbye Sara."

He gives the old man cupping wave. The kids smile. And then he leaves.

As he leaves, the mail comes. Mail comes everyday, usually bills or promotions.

Today, there is a letter for Thomas. I run out to his car and give it to him. He says thank you.

"You are blessed."

"Don't forget your Oranges. You know they are the best in Southern California?"

"They are."

"Come back anytime. Grab some oranges."

This actually happened, this isn't one of those made for facebook tearjerkers.

As we go through our days, as hectic as they are. Be present, be aware. Facebook can wait, this post can wait, that text can wait, everything can wait. Thomas, can't wait. The oranges, can't wait, they come twice a year and they are exquisite. Family, can't wait.

It will pass and so will the moment, but the memory will always be there....be a part of the memory.

It broke my heart today to have a 70 year old man in my living room looking at my wife and kids, seeing his own, and wishing he had it again. Not to do over, just to have it again, one more time.

In the end, we are all Thomas. And we are all Irene.

And I'm so grateful my doorbell wasn't working.