The party's over; it's time to call it a day. By the time these words hit your screens, the Oliver family, formerly of Florham Park, NJ, will be on their way to their new home in Portland, OR. It's basically an economic decision: The place where Neal works, Intel, shut down their operations in New Jersey and offered him the choice of staying employed with them either in Massachusetts or in Oregon. After lots of trips and lots of research, he and Kathe chose Portland -- in part because the school system will be the best they can find for Alex.

I can't say I've known Neal and Kathe all of their lives (unlike Alex, whom I've known since he first appeared). Our paths didn't cross until they moved to northern New Jersey from Michigan (via central New Jersey). We met at First Friday, an NNJ Mensa monthly dining event, some 20 years ago. I swept into the dining room wearing a long brown hooded cape, made for me by my then-partner Irwin, making an instant impression. Fortunately, we all got past that and became friends.

Many years later -- almost 13 years ago, now -- Irwin went into the hospital for the last time, suffering from complications of AIDS. Kathe was the first person I contacted, crying and babbling into the telephone, revealing at last the secret about Irwin's health that he asked me to keep.

Early the next morning -- about 1:00 a.m. -- the hospital phoned me to come over immediately. The first thing I did was call Neal and Kathe. All they wanted to know was when I would get to their place so they could come with me to the hospital. They stayed with me all that night and into the morning, right up until Irwin took his last breath and his heart stopped. I remember, right before the end, Kathy telling Irwin that he didn't have to worry, that she and Neal would look out for me. I remember Neal, the expert in so many languages, telling me during an earlier break what Irwin had been trying to say to me just hours before: "I love you." And I remember Neal's hand on my shoulder, feeling him cry after Irwin passed.

They were true to their word. Not a holiday went by, not an event passed, that they weren't there, inviting me to join them, providing an emotional foothold that I so desperately needed even while I was telling everyone I was all right. And as time passed and new loves entered my life, they were there, offering support and encouragement -- and criticism, when it was warranted.

And as time passed, and after many attempts they were delivered of Alexander, I was the one non-family member they allowed to visit the hospital. I quickly became Alex' "Uncle Allen", and I thoroughly spoiled him every chance I got. I got to watch him grow, precocious and loud and rambunctious, and I really don't think anyone loved him more than I, always excepting his proud and sometimes exasperated parents. And I finally fulfilled an early promise last month, taking him to see his first Broadway show, "The Lion King" -- and there's nothing like introducing someone to big-time professional eye-popping jaw-dropping live theatre.

I was the one that moved away first, down to central NJ. Only a short distance in terms of miles, but enough to reduce the times I could spend with them. And now it's their turn, moving themselves once more, 3000 miles away this time. The times we can meet now have dwindled to one: the Mensa Annual Gathering each July.

The old saying goes, "If you love something, let it go." I am letting go of good and close friends, who have been a large part of my life. I will miss them beyond words can tell. To quote one of Neal's favorite joke lines: "I won't say au revoir; I'll just say hors d'oeuvres." Dude.