I was annoyed by my neighbor’s noise. Months later, I’d helped raise $80,000 for her care.

• Heidi Widmer is a 35-year-old who moved into an apartment building in Los Angeles in July.
• For the first two weeks, she heard a loud sound from the apartment above and was annoyed.
• She found out the noise was being made by her neighbor, who has Parkinson’s.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Heidi Widmer. It has been edited for length and clarity.

In July, I moved into an apartment in Los Angeles, exhausted from a six-day drive across the country from New York. All I wanted to do was get into the apartment and sleep, and luckily, my bed had been delivered on the same day I arrived.

Trying to fall asleep at 2 a.m., all I could hear was a loud noise coming from the apartment upstairs. It sounded as if someone was bowling. Although I was tempted to shout for them to be quiet, I held my tongue — I was the new neighbor and didn’t want to be difficult.

But the noise just didn’t seem to stop. Whoever lived up there also never came downstairs. Who lives up there? I thought to myself.

I realized my neighbor had Parkinson’s

Two weeks after moving in, I heard someone coming down the stairs and had to get a glimpse of who lived above me.

Peeking out of my door, I saw Carole for the first time, slowly making her way down the stairs, shaking badly from what was clearly Parkinson’s, and trying to carry a bunch of bags full of recycling.

Just as I was about to open the door to see if she needed help, she dropped all the bags with only a couple of steps left. I burst out of my apartment to help her.

“Oh my gosh, thank you,” she said in her sweet British accent. “Did you just move in? Am I too loud for you?”

In that moment, I felt totally and completely humbled.

Having grown up in the Catholic church, I was taught never to judge a book by its cover, and with Carole, I hadn’t even seen the cover. I judged her simply by the noise she produced upstairs. How could I be so judgmental?

It turns out that sound had been Carole rolling a three-wheeled, broken chair across her floor to get to her mini fridge — the mini fridge social services had given her when her refrigerator broke. She had to hoist herself out of her broken chair to get down and access the mini fridge.

That was the noise.

I was determined to figure out what I could do to help

Two days after we met, I knocked on her door. She peeked through and nervously let me in. The conditions inside weren’t great.

Although she can live independently, she just needs a little help. I later learned that she doesn’t like accepting help from people, especially social services. The fact that she is frightened of the very people meant to help her breaks my heart.

That day, I took all of her trash out for her, reassuring her I wasn’t judging her at all.

In the weeks and now months that have followed, I have been up to Carole’s to help with the trash, cooking (she’d only been having microwave meals), cleaning, and contacting the landlord to get him to replace and repair items in the apartment. We’ve decorated her apartment, too.

I raised $80,000 to help her out

Together, we made her an Amazon wish list, and I shared it on social media so that people could order things she needs and have them delivered directly to her. People have been so generous, purchasing things like an expensive Buddhist “butsudan” that Carole didn’t expect anyone to buy.

We set up a GoFundMe, which has raised about $80,000, and we plan to use the funds to have a stair lift installed for her. Any leftover money will be spent on in-home care as she continues to age and her Parkinson’s Disease progresses.

I know I’ve been helpful to Carole in these last few months, but she’s been the perfect person at the perfect time for me, too. Moving to LA, I had hardly any connections. Lots of Carole’s family members are either no longer living or back in the UK (she moved here in her 20s as an au pair).

Carole became the family I haven’t had, and I became hers. We text back and forth each day, and I see her most days. She calls me granddaughter, and I see her as my grandmother.

When I’ve had a hard day at work teaching at a local middle school, Carole is ready to give me a big hug when I get home. She’s been my safe space, and I’ve been hers. The universe knew we needed each other.

It’s an unlikely connection, but it shows that when you lead with kindness rather than judgment, the person you were ready to judge can become someone you can’t imagine your life without.

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