My Favorite Neighbor I Never Met

Article Written By Melissa Teten

Me in Helen’s backyard!

Community Coordinator District 1 & 2

When my family left our Florida home of 6 years this summer, we knew we were leaving behind great neighbors.

We had hosted our neighbors for many gatherings and were on speed dial for cat-sitting and food-sharing. We knew what was going on in the lives of our neighbors and they knew we were always available to talk at the mailbox.

I had a sense we would be missed. Maybe even that our absence would leave a little hole.

What I didn't anticipate was moving into a house whose previous owner was so beloved that I would feel her absence, too.

Her name is Helen.

Helen owned this house for 40 years.

Forty years is a long time to live anywhere. Long enough for a house to become more than a house. Long enough to watch children grow up, saplings turn into aspen groves and neighbors become dear friends.

And apparently, long enough to become the kind of neighbor people don't forget.

When I first introduced myself in my new neighborhood, I would often hear:

"Oh you are in Helen’s house..."

"Oh, I miss Helen."

"She is my dear friend..."

People from all over the neighborhood knew where I lived because they loved who lived here before me.

Everyone misses Helen.

And instantly, I wished I was Helen’s friend too.

I never met her, but I'm beginning to know her by the way her neighbors remember her.

For example, there is a book club on our street that has been meeting for 40 years.

Forty years.

That's not just a book club. That's a collection of people who have chosen again and again to show up for one another.  It sounds like they don’t talk much about the books anymore, it’s a time to connect with their best friends.

Helen is still in touch with many of those friends. Even though she no longer lives here, she calls and checks in. She wants to know how everyone is doing.

And apparently, she also wants to know if we're taking care of her grass.

Yes, Helen still checks on the grass.

Which makes me laugh because there is something so wonderfully neighborly about caring deeply about people and their lawn.

But maybe that's the point.

The people who make a lasting mark on a neighborhood aren't necessarily doing extraordinary things.

They're doing ordinary things for a really, really long time.

They know your name.

They ask how your kids are doing.

They start a book club and keep it going for four decades.

They meet neighbors on daily walks on the trails.

They care about the house they once lived in—and the people who live around it.

The kind whose presence became woven into the ordinary fabric of neighborhood life.

And now, I am living in her house.

There's something humbling about that.

We often think about homeownership as taking possession of a place. We sign the papers, get the keys, unpack the boxes and start making the space our own.

But moving into this house leads me to believe that I am also inheriting a responsibility to be a great neighbor.

I don't think I can recreate Helen. And I don't think I should try.

But I do hope to honor what she left behind, a legacy of living that makes an impression on the people around you.

That someone tells stories about you years later.

That the family who moves into your house after you're gone—can still learn something about how to live from the way you loved people.

Helen may be the best neighbor I never met.

And we're taking good care of her/our house. And the lawn.

And we're going to do our best to take good care of the neighbors, too.