The Strong Connection of Community

Yesterday, as I went back to the house to check on things and pick up the mail, I bumped into a young woman walking her 3 dogs and pushing her toddler in a stroller. She paused to ask how the progress on the house was going and that we were settled somewhere and OK. That's happened a lot of late.

We live on the corner entrance to this part of the community and know so many people, not necessarily by name but by where they live or through their dogs. Being a dog friendly area with an off leash run nearby, it's almost a crime not to have a dog to enjoy it! As we no longer have our Toby, I get my dog fix through everyone else.

A couple of weeks ago, another woman stopped her car as she was driving out of the area, parked, and came over to make sure we were OK. They had some damage to their home and would have to relocate for a short while, but shared that her husband had dementia and was blind and she didn't know what would be worse, being in a hotel that was unfamiliar or the noise they would have to live through if they stayed as they fixed the roof. We discussed options and the ramifications of them all, hugged each other and went on with our day. Just think for a moment, how many times does that happen where you live? This is not the exception in Arlington Woods. It's a day to day regular occurrence.

We know each other's stories. In her case, we also recalled the time when they moved into Arlington Woods, and the circumstance around how and why we first met. We hugged each other, and both went on our way, smiling, because that's what it's like to live there. 

I was thinking a lot about that yesterday after my encounter with that young woman. I came back to the townhouse later in the afternoon to the stark realization that one of the reasons why I feel so lost is because there is no sense of community where we're currently living. I can drive down the street at all hours of the day and evening and there is no one about. There are no children because it's an adult / retirement community. There is no warmth of connection. No one to talk to. People are all behind closed doors.

Even in the aftermath of the tornado where so many houses are vacant, workers are about, waving as they drive by. I think they've been bitten by the Arlington Woods friendliness bug. People are coming and going, walking their dogs, and with their kids. It's so damaged and bruised but the spirit of its people is like a living force. It brought back how much I really miss my interactions with our neighbours next door, passing things over the fence, discussing our day or plans ahead and being silently called to the fence by their huge dog Buddy for a scratch through the chain links. There have been many a meal left to get cold when we'd see him beckon us and we'd pop up and go out to see him no matter the weather.  I miss seeing Karen and Ron across the street to catch up by the mailbox, give and receive a hug for the day and make sure all was well within our worlds. 

It's a part of the fabric of our lives.

When I was interviewed just after the tornado by CBC and the reporter almost took it for granted that I wasn't going to move back to the area and asked me why I would, I immediately replied, "If you're asking that question, you don't know this community". And when a firefighter asked if I was going to go back and I immediately answered, "Of course!", and he responded with, "Not so fast. Before you say that, it might not be possible for you to move back in if it's not safe," I fundamentally knew that I'd come back; it wasn't an option.

But until yesterday, I didn't truly understand how deeply that answer rang true and why. I left home (as in Montreal) 44 years ago and made Ottawa my home. My kids and husband aside, this city has become home. These are the people who check in with me, who make sure I'm OK, especially when I'm not. They take the time to understand the feeling of displacement, of missing connection. They don't automatically say, "You're strong. You'll be back in no time", without seeing the devastation or taking the time to consider what it is to be forced to leave what has been my home for 33 years — or to ask and listen to how I'm doing. Our community is family on so many levels. They're the people we interact with, live beside, are there in a pinch — are who we can rely on.

 

We're lucky we are safe to talk about it and have a roof over our heads but getting back home is a yearning that won't go away and will just get stronger every day.