My grandpa had a neighbor named George. George and my grandpa were best friends, two peas in a pod. George was younger than my grandpa by at least 10 years, but they were always together.
Every Monday morning they would take Grandpa's truck and go and collect food for the food bank. They would go on walks together. They did their home teaching together. (In our church two men are asked to take care of other families in their neighborhood...visit them, give them spiritual messages, etc.)
Every Sunday George and his wife would have Grandpa over for dinner.
When Grandpa needed something, George was always there.
One night George came to visit Grandpa in the care center. It was right near the end of Grandpa's life, when he was in a coma. When George got there he started talking to Grandpa like he always did: telling him about the neighborhood, the food bank, his kids...
And while he talked, he put lotion on Grandpa's hands, because they were dry. George got a little emotional when he told Grandpa that he had been his best friend, and that he loved him and would miss him.
When George finished with the lotion he stood to leave. "Goodbye Lyn," he said. "You've lived a good life." And then he hugged me and walked out the door.
The world would be a better place if all of us could be the kind of friend that George was.