Go hug your neighbors!

It's been a good year professionally for me, but rough emotionally, as anyone knows me well can attest.

My father passed away recently after a long, and then abruptly sudden, illness. He was surrounded by friends and family.

He was home for his last week on earth, which was both a blessing and a terrible burden. His comfort and his care were in our hands, and so our hands were trembling a lot. More than once, I found my eyes meeting my mother's eyes and the weight of what we had to do was palpable. It was present. It was bad. It was exhausting.

But like all Truly Bad Things, it came with a nice thing sidecar.

Through medication schedules and feedings and washings and diaper changes, I'm not sure how we slept or ate. I just know that food showed up and the nap was offered and somehow we made it through. And I know it was only possible through our neighbors.

Olivia down the street made tamales. Her daughter Alejandra babysat my twenty-one month old son when it was my shift with my dad. Carol next door walked the dog for us when we were late at the hospital. Debbie on the other side of the house has a sick mother; she knew of a great at-home hospice service. Denny, Carol's husband, fixed the fridge.

Lucas across the street knew a good priest.

My mother in-law across town always knew exactly when to show up and offer to watch while I napped.

Somehow flowers kept arriving on my father's bedside table. Not every day, but every three or so, and nothing fancy, just a couple fresh clippings from someone's garden, but they were beautiful, and they gave us all something living to focus on when the days wore on to Very Bad Nights. I later found out they came from Nila's down the street. She'd come over with a couple nice roses, maybe a Gerber daisy, with a wet paper towel at the bottom of it, tell us to throw out the dead ones and put the new ones in.

And we did, and somehow around us, under the worst possible circumstances, life went on. And beautifully.

I know a lot is written about nesting syndrome and the way a lot of modern people don't really know their neighbors. I can't help but think it's not true - I live in Los Angeles, hardly the idealized suburban mecca of genteel neighborli-ness you see on TV, and I have the best neighbors around. All it takes is the little effort.

But if you happen to read this and think, gosh, maybe my relationships with my neighbors could use some sprucing, then hey, go bake that bundt cake. Send that note. Take that flower clipping over. Because you could literally be saving someone's life right then.

So thank your lucky stars for good neighbors, and if you have bad neighbors, work on changing that sitch for the better, either by moving physically or moving on metaphyscially...

Oh, and I happen to know a great Realtor;)