|As I get older, I think about the people that once lived inside these homes.|
Several times a week, early in the morning, and no matter the season, she could be found outside tidying up the front of her home. With a sweater on, slippers on her feet, and a broom in hand, she’d methodically sweep, sweep, sweep away the dust from her front door all the way to the sidewalk. This went on for several years.
|The front of her home was one of the cleanest in the neighbourhood.|
She was not very fond of me, although I didn't find this out until many years later. I was very quiet and kept to myself, and apparently she didn't like that. I wasn't sociable enough for her like my older brother (the extroverted extrovert) was. One day she said to my mother “Your daughter is not nice. Not friendly. Such a cold girl. Oh, but your older son...the best.” The things we introverts go through...
|Like the woman who once lived here, we are all just passing through.|
She lived in that home for decades; from the time my family and I moved into that neighbourhood in the mid 60s up until last year when, according to my mother, she was taken away in an ambulance one day, and never returned home again. It remains unknown what happened to her, or whether she’s still alive. This is one of my mom's lifelong neighbours; people that she has grown old with. Each one with their own unique story. And one by one they are leaving the neighbourhood. Such is life.
Have a lovely Thursday, everyone.