Six years ago, my husband and I prepared to move into the home of our dreams.
It was everything we had hoped for: a quaint split-level on a charming street in a beautiful neighborhood.
The move was happening during a difficult time. I was 38 weeks pregnant with our fourth child and unable to participate in most of the physical labor. So, my tasks mainly included folding, pointing, and barking orders from the couch.
Despite the chaos, we’d moved numerous times as a couple, so I thought I knew exactly what to expect …. but there were a lot of surprises, in the form of disaster and community, that awaited us.
Just a day after our move, disaster struck
At the end of moving day, our home was a mess of bubble wrap and boxes. Although we were excited, we were also exhausted.
After a quick, casual meeting with our across-the-street neighbors — a lovely retired couple in their mid-60s — we excused ourselves for the night. My husband suggested that the girls and I sleep nearby at my parents’ house while he continued to unpack.
The next morning, I immediately noticed that my parents were acting strangely. I called my husband to check in, but he didn’t answer, either.
Finally, after cornering my mom in the kitchen, she confessed that she hadn’t wanted to upset me, but there had been an incident at the new house.
I pressed her again, and she finally told me the news: Our beautiful, brand-new home had flooded with 3 inches of water overnight, and the garden-level basement was ruined.
I was devastated about the damage, but touched by how much our new neighbors had helped us
I learned that the entire incident had occurred while my daughters and I were asleep the night before. After discovering the flood, my husband called my parents in a panic, and they rushed over immediately to help bail water.
Apparently, that wasn’t enough. My parents and husband had buckets and rags, but they needed more equipment to remove the water.
Desperate, my husband decided to call our new neighbors on the off chance that they had a heavy-duty Shop-Vac. They did, and gladly joined the clean-up efforts, even though it was 2 a.m., and we had just met that day.
Waking up to this news was devastating. I couldn’t believe that so much damage had occurred in one night, and I felt terrible that I had slept through the entire thing.
I was incredibly humbled by our neighbors’ help. I spent that morning putting together a care package filled with cookies and handmade cards from our children, thanking them for their above-and-beyond kindness.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
Today, we can’t imagine our lives without our neighbors
Our neighbors were so appreciative of the care package.
We spent hours together the day we gave it to them, talking and learning even more about each other’s lives. They told us that their twin daughters lived out of town and that they rarely got to spend time with younger children anymore.
When our daughter was born two weeks later, our neighbors were there to welcome us home with flowers and gifts. Over the next year, we spent time together at summer bonfires, cozy holidays, and backyard birthday parties.
Two years later, when I received my multiple sclerosis diagnosis, our neighbors were there to offer hugs and comfort. When my husband was out of town this spring, they offered to come with the kids and me to a local touch-a-truck event, providing some extra hands.
Now, six years later, our neighbors are so much more than simply people who live nearby. They are like grandparents to our children, and we can’t imagine our lives without them.
In hindsight, we’re so grateful for the circumstances that brought us together. Our lifelong friendship was worth every dollar spent repairing our basement.
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