Our Neighbor

The first house my husband and I bought was in Roberts, IL, a tiny village about twenty minutes north east of our current home. At that time, Dave and I were both working for a company whose headquarters were in that tiny village. We both traveled for work, but being close to the corporate office was convenient. We had no children when we moved in. When we moved out we had three children. That simple house (the mortgage payment was less than my car payment) brings back so many fond memories for us. The very best part of that house was our next door neighbors – Wayne and Marian. They were retired farmers not much older than my parents and they adopted us immediately. In the early years that was baked goods being exchanged, waves at the window and occasional chats at the end of our driveway. Soon everyone in Roberts knew us because Wayne and Marian were busy “talking us up” around town. It seemed that, since Wayne and Marian loved us, everyone they knew also deemed us lovable.

Once I had a baby, though, they became woven into our life. Our first baby went through colic and I could count on Marian to come hold him so I could take a break from the crying and take a shower. She always assured me that I knew what I was doing as a first time mom, when I most certainly did not. She never criticized but could always find a way to mention something that worked for her back in her day, and it often worked for me, too. I stayed at home part-time with the oldest so we had lots of time to wander over to visit, especially just before dinner. I would be waiting for Dave to come home from work to give me a bit of a break from parenting. Wayne and Marian split a beer every evening before dinner so Ross and I started joining them. Ross would drink juice from a sip cup and the three adults would split two beers. Those were the most glorious happy hours ever. They had wonders in their house like a clock that had different bird sounds for each hour and a lower cupboard filled with pots and pans especially for little ones to empty and fill over and over. My oldest delighted them by crawling backwards all over their house, the only way he crawled for many months. Each time Wayne would exclaim, “Look at that! He only has one gear – reverse!” That little guy would pull himself up to our kitchen window that looked out to the neighbor’s driveway and call out, “Moo – ian! Moo-ian!” He preferred to be at her house always.

Around the same time we added a second child we had our final goodbyes with Wayne. Marian kept to herself for a few weeks but then reiterated herself into our family with gusto. By then I only worked part time at night so I had my days with two little boys. I was particularly challenged figuring out how to take care of two active boys. Marian always made me feel like I had everything under control and could depend on my instincts. She would come rock a baby if I found myself dealing with a challenging problem with the oldest, or I could send the oldest toddling over to her house as I watched out the window if I wanted a chance to nap with the baby. Marian kept her house so clean you could eat off her garage floors. She had a green thumb and spent time daily caring for her plants and flowers inside and out. My oldest would zoom over to help her, which at that age meant talking incessantly while she hovered over her plants. Number two learned to toddle over to Marian’s and find a big plastic watering can she kept handy in the garage just for him. He would drag that around and “help” her garden, too. There was one tiny step to reach her driveway and that little fella thought that was like climbing a wall. He would stop and look at it and think about it for a while before taking a big breath and climbing that one tiny step. Marian clapped for him every single time.

Our third child joined our family at a time of transitions. In the first year of her life we adjusted to being a family of five, dealt with the diagnosis of a major developmental issue with one of our children, tread water as my husband’s job in investments struggled to recover from 9-11, and sat back helplessly as my dad struggled with severe mental illness that saw him hospitalized over and over. Just when I thought I was at my limit, Marian would show up with her famous tea rings or cinnamon rolls, or an invitation to come over for dinner, or just for a quick hug in my doorway. She seemed to alway sense when I needed her most.

We moved when our youngest was not quite a year old. The hardest part about it, by far, was leaving Marian behind. She would come visit us and bring tea rings and cinnamon rolls. I would play the piano and the kids and I would sing for her. Sometimes I would load up the crew and visit her but I felt so bad when one of the littles broke something in her house of so many lovely collectibles. It was much easier to have her come to us! Eventually, though, time brought about a move for Marian, to an assisted living facility about twenty minutes from us. By that time my kids were taking piano, voice, dance, trumpet and trombone lessons so we would bring an entire variety show to her! She would plan a time to reserve the great room. I would load up a keyboard, trumpet, trombone, dance shoes, amplifier and tons of music and The Browns would entertain all the residents. Marian was so proud to introduce us as her special guests. She would also reserve the kitchen at the facility so she could still make hundreds of tea rings to donate to church functions and special fundraisers. She thrifted pillow cases and sewed hundreds of dresses and sent them to Africa, including one extra special one to my little girl. She moved to a facility in Champaign in her eighties and learned to ride the public bus system since she could not drive anymore. I am still impressed by her gumption to figure it out and not let it keep her from going and doing the things she wanted to do.

Finally, in her nineties, she moved to an assisted living facility in our town and it was a glorious homecoming! I could visit her more often and stop in and play the piano and sing for her anytime. Her apartment was filled with photos of her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren and she went through the family tree at each visit. I feel like I know each of them because of how much she talked about them. Marian dressed well and always had the most beautifully manicured nails (and she always did them herself). This was unlike any farm woman I knew! She played cards and was always crafting something. Marian’s faith was deep and something we discussed in depth in later years when it was just the two of us visiting. When Marian entered Hospice this spring I was privileged to spend a few hours with her on her final day here. I thanked her profusely for all the confidence she gave me as a new mom and as a not-so-new mom. I thanked her for loving me and my children as her own. I thanked her for being one of my dearest friends. I thanked her for always reaching out to me to offer a hand, a hug, or a tea ring. My life is profoundly better for having Marian in it for so many years. Isn’t it amazing what can happen when a neighbor reaches out to another neighbor?