For Phil

My wife and I passed by a house with flowers tied to the fence on our walk home yesterday. As we got closer, my wife started tearing up.

They were condolences for a man named Phil. 

I’ve known Phil for the past 5 years but didn’t realize it.

He was the nameless old man my wife talked about whenever she came back from work or one of her daily walks.

He sat outside his brownstone on his chair, striking up conversations with anyone that walked by.

His chair was still there.

Sat atop it a bouquet of flowers and a card that read “For Phil.” 

Another bouquet of flowers tied to the gate had a card with a child’s handwriting on it. It read:

“Thanks for all the toys you gave me.”

The rest of our walk home we talked about what it means to be a human.

What kind of impact are we having around the people we interact with.

What kind of impact does the work we do have?

Phil seemed to have it figured out.