I was sitting in my living room this morning with my IPad on my lap ready to start writing when the phone rang. It was my eighty-year-old neighbor from across the street, Anna. She was trying to go to the pharmacy to pick up her husband's medicine, but the car wouldn’t start. He, too, is in his eighties and sick with cancer.
They have two adult sons who come a couple times a month to check on them but no daily help. Anna’s been trying for some time to fix that situation through the Veterans Administration, but as you can imagine, it’s not going very well. To say I’m worried about them is an understatement. We’ve been neighbors since the day I moved in 24 years ago and I think of them as family.
Knowing I couldn’t do much from my hospital bed, I called the neighbor behind my house who just moved in. I met her last Halloween when she and her adorable children came trick-or-treating at my house. To my relief, she was more than willing to do what she could and sent her husband to start the car. He then drove Anna to the pharmacy which I was elated to hear.
My neighborhood has changed a lot over the years since I bought my house. Anna and I are the only ones left. The kids that my daughter grew up playing with have all moved away. Their parents, too. Each time one of the homes comes up for sale, I have to decide whether to keep to myself or get to know the new neighbors. Some people are suspicious of others who are too friendly. But I believe the only way for us to make it in this world is to help each other. We are all connected. So I make the effort.
As I finish writing this blog post I can see Anna out my living room window walking to the mailbox. It does my heart good to know she had the help she needed today. I’m filled with optimism for this little neighborhood of mine. And will do all I can to make sure she and the others know they can always count on me.