A conversation beside a mailbox about nothing.
Twenty-nine dollars quietly paid.
A peppermint offered without asking why somebody needs one.
A bird feeder kept full after the woman who loved the birds is gone.
Philip said something to me on the phone in December that I’ve thought about nearly every day since.
“She wasn’t dependent on you. You were just present.”
That sentence rearranged how I understood six years of my life.
Because that’s what Ada was for me, too.
She witnessed my ordinary life while I witnessed hers. She knew what my yard looked like in February. She noticed when my car was gone three days in a row and asked about it at the mailbox.
Maybe that’s all a good neighbor actually is.
Not somebody who rescues you.
Not somebody who takes over.
Just somebody who notices.
Somebody who stays close enough to know when your light doesn’t come on in the morning.
Somebody who knows when to knock.
And — just as importantly — somebody who knows when not to.
For six years I believed I was quietly taking care of Ada Holloway.
It wasn’t until she was gone that I found out she’d been taking care of me the entire time.
If this one got to you, let us know what you think in the comments on the Facebook video — we read every single one, and honestly, the neighbor stories people share are the reason we keep doing this.
And if you liked it, please share it with your friends and family. Somebody you know is quietly noticing whether your kitchen light comes on.
