Just My Neighbor

How many of you have neighbors? (Did you just raise your hand?) Sometimes neighbors can be difficult. They can be noisy, nosey, messy, and just downright rude. On the other hand, there are some you can always count on for a smile and wave as you’re pulling into your drive, or a friendly chat over the backyard fence. And then, once in a while, some really special ones come along. I grew up in a rural area, so I only had a few neighbors as a kid. And to be honest, I was blessed with some really fantastic ones. I had one neighbor who would always let me help him with all of his home-improvement projects. His wife would play H-O-R-S-E with me, and they would let me accompany their family to get pizza or ice cream. I have this other neighbor who mows my lawn, sucks up my leaves, and plows my long drive when it snows just because he likes to stay busy (using present tense since I still have that particular neighbor). I had this other neighbor… she was pretty nice too. I’d have to say I liked her the best out of all of them. She never played basketball with me, or let me help re-shingling the roof. But she did let me live with her. Yep. You read that correctly. She raised me. She was my mom, in every way but blood. Her name was Mamie, and this is our story:

Mamie came from a small town, and a big family. She was the fifth child out of 11. As a little girl, she was a quiet soul who could always be found playing with animals around the farm or hiding somewhere, curled up with a book. She met her husband, Lenn, at a roller-skating rink, literally steps away from where they would someday build a home together. They got married during WWII, while Lenn was a pilot in the United States Air Force, and raised two children. After Lenn retired, they built a home in a wooded area, at the front of a gravel lane. While Lenn pursued his hobbies in electronics, Mamie continued working as a licensed cosmetologist in her home “beauty shop.” Besides the occasional visit from their children, and the coming and going of Mamie’s customers, or “ladies,” as she called them, life was fairly predictable.

One day, Mamie happened to look out the window and saw a little girl in the yard.  Little did she know that meeting this girl would change her life forever. After going outside to investigate why the little girl was in her yard, Mamie found out that this little girl was no little girl at all. In fact, this little girl had a little girl. The young mother told Mamie that she and her husband had recently moved into the house down the lane from them, and that she was looking for their lost cat. Mamie got to know the young mother and her 9-month-old daughter and welcomed the friendship.  As time passed, the young family continued to grow and Mamie and Lenn loved these children as if they were flesh and blood relatives.  They loved having the young family’s three children come to their house on a regular basis, and, needless to say, the neighbor kids especially loved going down the lane to “Mamie’s.”

As Mamie’s bond with the family from down the lane grew, she and Lenn experienced a devastating loss. Their son, their first-born baby, was tragically murdered. It is hard to imagine how someone could just go on after suffering such a terrible loss, but Mamie kept going. She continued to work in her beauty shop, continued her faith, and continued loving her little neighbor kids. And, not too long after she lost a life, she gained another: mine. I was the newest addition to this family from down the lane, and, just as my older siblings, I too enjoyed Mamie’s company. However, when I was still very little, my mother had a lot of health problems, and, despite doing the best she could, wasn’t able to take care of me. But Mamie could . . . and Mamie did.

Perhaps we both had a void in our life that needed filling: she needed a son, and I needed a mother. Mamie raised me as her own. I lived in her house, she got me ready for school, she went to parent-teacher conferences, she paid for and took me to piano and dance lessons, and went to every single concert or recital I ever had from elementary school through college. She made all of my Halloween costumes and birthday cakes. She chased after me with the flyswatter or sat me in a chair when I was being ornery. She advised me, comforted me, and reassured me when I was sad. She cried for me, she defended me, and she prayed for me when she knew the world had hurt her boy. She cooked for me, and cleaned for me, stayed with me when I was sick, stayed up waiting for me when I was out late. She worried about me. She loved me. And I loved her too. When my friends and teachers would ask if Mamie was my grandma or an aunt, I would simply reply, “No. She’s just my neighbor.” What kind of neighbor puts you through college, helps you buy your very first car (and second car, and third car, and…), helps pay for your wedding? My neighbor, Mamie. That’s who.

Mamie always said she wanted to live long enough to see me graduate college and get married, and by-golly, she did. I actually got married first, and then, not even a year after graduating college, Mamie died. At first, all I could think about was how sad I was not to have her, and that my children would never know her. Then, I began to listen to myself and my wife. How we talk. The stories we tell. The corny jokes we make, and the advice we sometimes give each other. I then realized Mamie isn’t gone. She lives on in all the lives she touched. My son knows Mamie. He calls to her picture by name all the time (especially when he’s trying to avoid going to bed), and sometimes her name is the first word out of his mouth when he wakes up (although most of the time that word is “foot”).

Mamie gave me a lot of things, as I’ve already discussed. She gave me tangible things, she gave me love, she gave me a life. But the last thing she gave me was her house. So now, as an adult, I get to raise my own family in the house that I grew up in: the house that belonged to “just my neighbor.” I’ll bet some of you have had some special neighbors in your life, but, call me biased, my neighbor takes the cake.