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| We painted this rock for Emmett during the pandemic, featuring his beloved pup, Little Fellow. |
Rick and I lived next door to Emmett P. Lynch for over 20 years. He died a few weeks ago.
Our kids, especially the two youngest, Elizabeth and Tallulah, spent a lot of time at his house. I used to worry that the kids might bother him. I imagined they would knock on his door and he would groan internally about the interruption. I told him that once and he guffawed, assuring me he was 100% comfortable turning them away or kicking them out if it wasn’t a good time. It was always a good time.
He kept his eye on them too: if we weren’t home, and Samuel or Vincenzo, our boys, needed something, they could always go to him. He enjoyed peeking over the fence and talking to them about the wooden teepees and forts they were constructing.
Emmett and Tallulah – always LuLu to him – had a special bond. He kept a small wooden safe in his house, and gave her the combination. He would put treasures in it, trinkets, sweet treats, rocks, letters, anything he thought she would like. The first thing she did on her visits was to check the “mailbox” for goodies. Then she’d stay, and visit, and talk, and help him with his grocery list, and learn all kinds of interesting things from him.
After most visits, she and Elizabeth would come home with drawings, books, jars of applesauce, a bottle of wine for mom. We would try to return the favor with pie, biscotti, a serving from the dinner we made that night. It never seemed to match his generosity of spirit.
I remember once when we “lost” our oldest daughter, Lola: she was there one minute and gone the next. Emmett’s truck must have been in the shop or something, because it wasn’t out front and we assumed he wasn’t home. We got other neighbors involved in roaming the neighborhood looking for her; I was getting ready for a full blown melt down when Lola emerged from Emmett’s with a mini-can of rootbeer and a smile on her face. All of 8 years old, she told us our family was too loud that day and she needed a break. She went to Emmett’s.
Safe to say, with five kids, we were often a little overwhelmed, between school, homework, soccer practices, events,... Emmett had a sixth sense for knowing just when to send that most appreciated text: “Is it a good night for a pizza?” Half an hour later, a steaming hot pizza would be at our door and our evening with a big, busy family would have gotten just a little easier.
Emmett and I had very different politics. He would amble over to our front yard when I was working in the garden and opine on something from the news – and 10 out of 10 times we would have a completely different take on whatever it was. I would rail against corporate greed and oppression; he would champion individual freedom and free markets. I’m sure he thought I was a naive, bleeding-heart leftie, but he never stopped engaging or inviting me to do the same. These days in our country and culture, this is one of the rarest finds: kindness and care between people who disagree. I never doubted his heart and his feelings for people. He is one of the most generous, big-hearted people I’ve ever met, and I saw examples of that all the time: the way he cared for his friends or looked for ways to make things “just a little easier” for others; the beverages he left out for mail and package carriers; how he looked out for our entire block.
Ever since Emmett died, I’ve been thinking about how we take for granted the small, daily interactions that actually matter more than anything else in the world. How could I have possibly thought that Emmett would be with us forever? But my behavior suggests that I actually did think that, and took for granted that my next visit with him was surely going to be in just a few days or next week or as soon as work settled down. I’ll try to remember that, in his honor, for the rest of my life.
I went to Target with him once, where he chatted up nearly every person we came across and I saw, in action, something he was fond of observing: “Dogs and children love me!” We all do too, Emmett. We will miss you and all you brought to this neighborhood and to our family.
He kept his eye on them too: if we weren’t home, and Samuel or Vincenzo, our boys, needed something, they could always go to him. He enjoyed peeking over the fence and talking to them about the wooden teepees and forts they were constructing.
Emmett and Tallulah – always LuLu to him – had a special bond. He kept a small wooden safe in his house, and gave her the combination. He would put treasures in it, trinkets, sweet treats, rocks, letters, anything he thought she would like. The first thing she did on her visits was to check the “mailbox” for goodies. Then she’d stay, and visit, and talk, and help him with his grocery list, and learn all kinds of interesting things from him.
After most visits, she and Elizabeth would come home with drawings, books, jars of applesauce, a bottle of wine for mom. We would try to return the favor with pie, biscotti, a serving from the dinner we made that night. It never seemed to match his generosity of spirit.
I remember once when we “lost” our oldest daughter, Lola: she was there one minute and gone the next. Emmett’s truck must have been in the shop or something, because it wasn’t out front and we assumed he wasn’t home. We got other neighbors involved in roaming the neighborhood looking for her; I was getting ready for a full blown melt down when Lola emerged from Emmett’s with a mini-can of rootbeer and a smile on her face. All of 8 years old, she told us our family was too loud that day and she needed a break. She went to Emmett’s.
Safe to say, with five kids, we were often a little overwhelmed, between school, homework, soccer practices, events,... Emmett had a sixth sense for knowing just when to send that most appreciated text: “Is it a good night for a pizza?” Half an hour later, a steaming hot pizza would be at our door and our evening with a big, busy family would have gotten just a little easier.
Emmett and I had very different politics. He would amble over to our front yard when I was working in the garden and opine on something from the news – and 10 out of 10 times we would have a completely different take on whatever it was. I would rail against corporate greed and oppression; he would champion individual freedom and free markets. I’m sure he thought I was a naive, bleeding-heart leftie, but he never stopped engaging or inviting me to do the same. These days in our country and culture, this is one of the rarest finds: kindness and care between people who disagree. I never doubted his heart and his feelings for people. He is one of the most generous, big-hearted people I’ve ever met, and I saw examples of that all the time: the way he cared for his friends or looked for ways to make things “just a little easier” for others; the beverages he left out for mail and package carriers; how he looked out for our entire block.
Ever since Emmett died, I’ve been thinking about how we take for granted the small, daily interactions that actually matter more than anything else in the world. How could I have possibly thought that Emmett would be with us forever? But my behavior suggests that I actually did think that, and took for granted that my next visit with him was surely going to be in just a few days or next week or as soon as work settled down. I’ll try to remember that, in his honor, for the rest of my life.
I went to Target with him once, where he chatted up nearly every person we came across and I saw, in action, something he was fond of observing: “Dogs and children love me!” We all do too, Emmett. We will miss you and all you brought to this neighborhood and to our family.
Go ahead of us, Mayor Lynch. You kept the keys to all of our houses on a row of hooks in the back of your house. I'm counting on you to have the keys to the Kingdom when I arrive.
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