Friendship on the Doorstep - Kindness of Strangers

It took me 18 months to get to know my neighbour



One Friday, we were packing to leave for a weekend away when my daughter heard cries for help. When I went to investigate, I discovered an elderly neighbour we barely knew had taken a bad fall on her front steps. She was clearly in pain so I helped her inside her house and settled her on the couch.

I noticed how cramped and dark her place was and it was obvious she hadn't cleaned for a while.

She insisted she didn't need an ambulance and that someone would be around soon, so I left her with a bottle of water at her side.

As I left I felt saddened to realise that, apart from a few smiles in the past 18 months we had been neighbours, we hadn't connected. She didn't know my name and I didn't know hers, and I hadn't even noticed she hadn't been outside for weeks due to bad sciatica.

That weekend I met my nan for her 80th birthday and noticed how clean and spacious her flat seemed in comparison to my neighbour's. Then my thoughts turned to all the chances Nan has to give away her possessions to her daughter, grandkids, nieces and nephews.

My neighbour, as far as I knew, had no family regularly dropping by.

When I returned home I went to check on her but she didn't answer my knocks.

Trying the back door and finding it open, I walked inside. More grateful than startled to see me she explained she was OK. Yet, unable to bend down due to her back, she could not unpack groceries a delivery boy had left at floor level and her kitchen was filling with garbage she was unable to take out by herself.

We've become good friends and chat every second day. She keeps thanking me for my kindness but I enjoy helping her. I was so busy I was missing a wonderful chance to connect with another person in my community. Now, every time I return from putting out her garbage, collecting her mail or just chatting, I feel a deep sense of satisfaction and peace. At 76, I'm sure she's done more than her fair share of helping others through her life.
From Reader's Digest Magazine