The news had been expected. But still, I clung on to a shred of hope in the quietness over the past twenty days. In a way, no news meant good news. Then yesterday, as I heard the doorbell ring at such odd hours, and the hushed whispers that followed outside my house, I knew instinctively that it was news of your departure.
You and I have been neighbours for 10 years. And though we've seen each other's children grow from a baby to a child, we weren't especially close.
I didn't know what your surname was, or what hobbies you had. But I could easily recognise your voice from outside my door when you were rushing around trying to get your children ready for school or for going out.
We didn't know each other's birthdays. But you knew my children's as I knew yours. And come each birthday, we would buy for each child, a small gift. It would be nothing fanciful really, but it was a token of our neighbourly ties.
We didn't know the likes and dislikes of each other. But we knew the different sets of problems our children faced in school. The snatches of conversations that we had hurridly exchanged during those slivers of time when we had bumped into each other between me rushing for work, and you leaving for your marketing.
In the years recently, I haven't been seeing you around as often as I used to. Your family would be away for long blocks of hours everyday and it would be harder to bump into you. The last conversation that we had, had been many months ago when you were telling me about the family commitments that you faced. That too, had been hurried and rushed as I was getting home after work and you had to go prepare dinner.
We didn't chat often, but those regular exchanges of pleasantries and the catches of conversations that we had shared over the years, had been our ways of getting to know each other.
Yet, beyond our catchups outside our houses and around our estate, I didn't know you much.
I didn't know if you had any peculiar habits, or if you preferred to drink coffee or tea. I didn't know how bad your eyesight was or how well you could see without your spectacles. I didn't know your age or your dialect group, if you had any medical conditions, or that you had heart problems.
I didn't know what happened that night when your kids came out rushing and shouting that you had fallen down.
I didn't know what to expect when I rushed over with my family and the other neighbours.
I didn't know what to do when I saw you lying there unconscious at your toilet floor.
I was shaken with shock, and between helping to calm down your kids who were crying for you to wake up, calling for the ambulance, and frantically digging through your possessions trying to locate your identity card and your medications, my mind drew a blank and I didn't know anything else.
After the ambulance had whisked you away to the hospital with your husband beside you, and your sister had arrived to look after your kids, everything quietened back down, and the neighbours and I slowly retreated back to our individual houses.
It was a sombre mood as I prepared myself and my kids for bed. I couldn't sleep that night. Everytime I closed my eyes, my mind flashed back to the scene of you lying there unmoving and broken.
Since that night, your quiet household became even quieter and emptier, devoid of any movements. Over the past weeks, all we heard of, were that you were in the icu with no change to your condition.
Until today.
I didn't know a lot about you, and I guess I never will anymore. What I do know, is that you were a kind, warm and helpful person, and a wonderful neighbour to have.
Life is unpredictable, and your sudden departure has left a raw absence and dull spot in our floor of neighbours. As your husband and children mourn for your loss, we grieve along too, missing your presence in our hearts.
Goodbye Rachael.
May you rest in peace.
