Well, now I feel really bad. Our downstairs neighbor, the subject of my Dad Rant of a few posts earlier, passed away in his apartment.
Over the course of a few days a couple of weeks ago we'd noticed that the volume of his music hadn't changed at all, booming at the same level day and night. We'd also noted that his outside front light was on continuously and his mailbox remained overstuffed.
On the same day I'd asked the management office about doing a wellness check my wife had taken it upon herself to knock on his door. Even though we'd gotten off to an odd start he did seem, though unique, like a decent guy. Like us, he pretty much kept to himself, and he did take great care of our building's adopted feral as if she was his own.
He hadn't answered my wife's knocks, and she called me, concerned. I let her know that the police were called and would be doing a wellness check, and she went on her way doing errands that morning.
On returning she found our building swarmed with police and emergency vehicles and called me immediately, demanding to know what I'm sure she'd already feared. His death was, apparently accidental. He'd been gone only a day or two.
To this day my wife thinks we could've done something more, would've been able to help him in some way had we tried earlier to check on him.
I've tried to assure her repeatedly that we did what we thought best, given the awkward way we started out as neighbors.
The music volume thing was nothing unusual, and we didn't want to come across as being nosy or intrusive by "checking on" him any sooner than we did. We'd heard him moving about only two or so days earlier. I know deep down my wife doesn't accept this, and it still bothers her.