My daughter Imogen knows I love proteas so when she saw a bouquet of native Australian flowers while shopping, she decided to buy them for me.
A day or two previously, I’d told Imogen about the magnificent native flower garden that was in front of the house where we lived when she was five years old. I loved that garden. I spent many hours peering out the living room window, watching the birds hovering amongst the flowers. When the weather was wet, I took delight in the raindrops that spilled out of the proteas.
When we moved to that house, I was five months pregnant with Thomas and anticipating his birth and death. My heart was so full of grief, I couldn’t face the world. But I felt safe behind the garden which screened our house from the eyes of passers-by.
At that time, I found leaving the house very difficult. Whenever I had to go out, I hurried along the path to my car hoping not to see my neighbour. I couldn’t chat to her as if there was nothing wrong, but I also couldn’t share my pain with her. Often, I wondered what my neighbour thought of me. Did she think I was aloof and unfriendly?
Thomas was born and lived for a day and, a long time later, I ventured back out into the world. I began smiling at my neighbour whenever I saw her, instead of trying to avoid her, but it was too late. We’d got off to a bad start and it seemed impossible to regain some friendship ground.
One day, when I headed out my door, my neighbour caught my eye, and I felt encouraged to stop on my side of the fence. We talked. My neighbour told me about her newborn granddaughter who had died and the sorrow her son and her family were enduring. And, suddenly, words flew between us as we shared our stories. I apologised for my remote behaviour and my neighbour understood, the tension between us dissolving away.
So many times, we look at other people’s lives from the outside, don’t we? We think we know what’s going on. We discuss. We judge. We criticise. If we were in that person’s shoes we’d do things differently. But there’s a problem: we don’t know the whole story.
I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. There must be a reason why someone doesn’t respond as I hope. I remind myself that I don’t really know what’s going on.
I must admit that I often fail and end up judging regardless of my good intentions. And then when that happens, I recall my ‘unfriendly’ behaviour towards my neighbour who lived next to our house with the protea garden.
As unschoolers, we are often judged. We’re irresponsible and lazy and maybe a bit crazy. But can that really be true? Would we do anything to harm our kids whom we love so much? Oh no.
Sometimes the outside looks wrong because we just don’t understand.
Something Extra
Here’s a vlog I made for the Stories of Unschooling Families community. In it, I tell my former neighbour story. I also tell the story of a sparkly older man who we met at the lake on a beautiful spring day. And I share some thoughts about love and the meaning of our lives, and how valuable they are whether we live for a long time or only a day.
I made this video last year during the second of our lockdowns when my hair was out of control because our hairdressing salons were closed for many months!
Photos
The cemetery where my former neighbour’s granddaughter is buried.
