Are we still good neighbors?

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