I’ve lived in the same neighbourhood for thirty-nine years. Moved into one townhouse when I was ten; moved to apartment when first married; now back to different townhouse with hubby, daughter, and mom. Same complex, now nearly eighteen years. I’m the definition of homebody, I guess.
Maybe thirty-three years ago a family moved in beside my parents and me. I was about fifteen and their boys were maybe six and five…five and four? Over the years our families grew. The boys went through their always-in-trouble ages to moody teens to young adults to men. One’s a father of two little girls, who would have thought back then he would be a dad. He’s a good dad.
We were neighbour-friends. Not closely involved in each other’s lives friends. No, we stopped and chatted. We laughed over the next generations in our families…her granddaughters, my daughter. Always waving when we passed each other.
A townhouse complex is an interesting environment. Our home is along one side of the squarish shape. We’re a length of six homes separated from the other six/seven units along our side by the entrance to the court. The court is an open-ended square of townhouse rows. The front line of homes is its own section. Together we are joined in the middle by a large green playground.
But still we are different mini-neighbourhoods within this larger one. The city even addressed us differently. The front is one street address with individual numbers. My side is yet a different street with individual numbers. The court, one address with unit numbers. We all share the same entrance; listed under the court’s address…pizza delivery is insane.
Because of these mini-neighbourhoods, we don’t often see my childhood neighbours. I don’t remember the last time I saw her, waved to her, or spoke with her. I do know the last time was just a wave as they drove by my home.
She died yesterday morning.
I knew she was in the hospital, in ICU. I knew her battle was uphill. Given my own experience when dad was dying, I knew chance wasn’t on her side.
Now she’s gone and her family is grieving.
I feel heavy. A little lost. Someone I knew for more than half my life; someone who called this, my own townhouse complex home; someone I’ll never wave to again, is gone.
RIP Joan. You are missed.