Ursula had been a German war bride brought back after World War II. I bet she had amazing stories to tell. Problem is, I didn't think to ask her to share her stories, and now I won't have a chance to learn about her singular history.
Two weeks ago, Ursula fell. She was all alone in her home, but close enough to a telephone so that she could call 911. The rescue workers came, but couldn't get her door open, even with their "magic key". I had a chance to stand outside of her door along with a few other neighbors, speaking in hushed tones about how concerned we were for her. Ilsa was scared for her, and drew her a picture which I brought over before the door was opened by Ursula's daughter, who had to drive over from a nearby city.
Urusla is now in a nursing home, never to return to the home she shared with her now-deceased husband for 50-plus years. I wish I had taken the time to sit down with her over a cup of tea and get to know her. Sure, I brought her a loaf of bread once, and I spoke to her a few times, but is that being a real neighbor? I hope I learned my lesson.