I’ve
had many good neighbors, but the most incredible one I’ve ever known, wasn’t
mine. She belonged to someone else, and I’ve been jealous ever since.
I
met her when I was lucky enough to accompany a friend to her house. She lived
in the country where farmers tended their fields and minded their own business
most of the time.
Mrs.
Bertram met us at the door and invited us inside to a warm and pleasant atmosphere
scented with delicious smells from the kitchen. As we walked through the living
room – cluttered slightly with the family’s belongings – she tidied as she led
us toward the dining room, stopping first in front of a wall adorned with numerous
portraits and snapshots.
“These
are all of our children,” she said as she pointed to the photos.
I
stared at the numerous pictures of separate individual children and couldn’t
help but ponder how they could all be hers.
She
saw my confusion, and with a smile, added, “We have many foster children
because we’ve been doing this for twenty years.” She named each one and told a
brief story of their accomplishments and how long they were part of the family.
Then
she led us into the dining room where I saw an elderly woman lying in a
hospital bed beside a window. Our host introduced us to her neighbor, Velma.
“Velma
lived in that house right there,” she pointed through the window to a home next
door that was old and timeworn. An assortment of roses climbed along the side
of the house in beautiful, wild abandon, their clinging tendrils clasping the
old clapboard tightly. An old wooden gate led up the lane to the house.
Velma
turned slightly in her bed, an elderly, almost skeletal woman with white hair and
sunken skin across her face. She smiled and nodded her head, unable to speak or
move her arms.
Mrs.
Bertram introduced us before adding, “That is her home over there and she can
lie here and see it whenever she wants.” She patted the woman and made sure
that the cover over her arm was warm enough. “When her husband passed away, Velma
stayed over there alone and we looked after her for several years, since her
children lived far away. After she had a stroke, her kids wanted to put her
into a home, but she was so distressed to leave her house.”
We
all looked through the window at the old home. “Her husband built that house
after they were married and they raised their family there. She planted those
roses many years ago.”
The
butterflies floated gently in the twilight as a meadowlark sang his evening
song, preparing all within hearing distance for the upcoming sunset. Velma
watched the house with us, her eyes shining bright. I wondered what reminiscences
were weaving their pleasant way into her mind.
As
I began to feel tears grow in my eyes, I was humbled and so grateful for the
kindness of Mrs. Bertram, a neighbor who sacrificed her home, her time, and
especially her dining room, for the sake of this gentle soul, whose last wish
was to be close to her memories of a lifetime.
Mrs.
Bertram was a true neighbor, the kind we all want and the kind we should all strive
to emulate. She not only made room in her home for many homeless children, but
also a sweet, helpless, elderly woman. She had a full, generous heart with
boundless love for others, and accomplished numerous kind deeds of which most
will never be known.
Velma
closed her eyes and fell asleep before we took our leave. Mrs. Bertram returned
to her duties as we walked to our car. The stars were beginning to shine in the
darkened sky above and we could sense a change in the air as it cooled under
the new moon. I looked back at the two houses, one old and worn, the other,
alive with lights and full of warm joy within. May we all be so blessed to have
a good neighbor! © 2015 Linda Gatewood
