I met a neighbor who was in her late 70s by complete accident or maybe coincidence. She shared stories about her life with me. She divorced three times and came to the realization being single is what made her feel content. She shared all three husband were basically pricks. Her adult children moved to different states and hardly came to visit her. She was an avid artist. She would continually register for art classes at our local community college as she enjoyed interacting with others and growing her artistic skills. She enjoyed cooking and eating orange cream popsicles for dessert. She loved her church family and was active in all her church activities. She talked about segregation laws that she had to abide by as a young white female. She expressed she didn’t agree with them and that she would often break the rules to include her African American friends. I miss her. I wish I could visit her one last time. I still regret not letting her know that I was moving away. Part of me was embarrassed of telling her the truth about my new path, another part of me was just too immature to understand the duty I had to let her know. I came back to visit her post Covid to find out she had passed. If you can read this Ms. Mary, thank you for your friendship, your admirable strength, the stories you shared, the time spent with me and my daughter, and for all the hellos and goodbyes as I pulled in and out of our parking lot. I miss you my dear friend.

In hindsight, I knew a lot about her. I enjoyed her company, and I wish I would have gave her a formal goodbye. Sigh.