Significant Events in the Neighborhood

Several months ago, we had a significant event happen in our quiet little neighborhood.  A young man who stole a car in Redondo Beach ended his joy ride at the end of our street.  The high-speed chase concluded with him crashing into a house in the middle of the night.  He exited the car and began shooting at the police, who had surrounded the accident scene.  They returned fire, the young man was struck several times and he died.  What a waste.

In the morning, the neighbors awoke to a crime scene investigation.   Bullet holes were scattered in houses and cars.  Shell casings dotted the street.  The car he was driving, along with a trailer, a parked car, and a garage were all crushed together in a heap in a neighbor’s driveway.  And, on his lawn, laid the body of the man who had forfeited his life for reasons we will never know.

Soon after this, the Long Beach Police department sent a notice around the neighborhood stating that they wanted to have a quick meeting with all the neighbors in someone’s front yard.  Because of the impact of all that happened, everyone agreed to be there.  This was a brilliant move on the part of the police department.

At the meeting, the Lieutenant they sent out helped the neighborhood process the tragedy that had taken place just a few doors down.  He listened, allowed us to ask questions, gave insight from his experience and told us what was going to come in the next hours, days and weeks.  For those who needed comfort and reassurance, he gave it.  For those who needed someone to express their anger to, he took it.  For those who just needed to be heard, he listened.  It helped our neighborhood heal and move forward.  It was just what we needed.

This weekend another significant event took place in our neighborhood.  Our next-door neighbors of 10 years moved.  Over the past decade, we had the privilege of rejoicing with them when their children were born.  We have witnessed many of the children’s milestones in life and benefited from the joy they brought to our street.  The long conversations we shared with the parents about children, work, politics, faith and life are too numerous to count.  If we ran out of something, we shared with one another.  If there was a need, any kind of need, we met it best we could.  We celebrated holiday’s together, colored Easter eggs, hung Christmas lights, and barbequed on the 4^th of July.  When there was no family to be with, we would be together.  They became much more than the people who lived next door.  They became a part of the fabric of our lives.

This is not true just for us, you see we live in a special neighborhood where most of our neighbors share this experience.  On Hackett, we know what it is to live with neighbors in our neighborhood.  Given this reality, you can envision just how hard it is to see one of the families on our street move away.  

It is also not hard to imagine that such a significant loss has elicited varying responses from the people on our street.  Some have responded by pressing in and wanting to connect with the family who is moving, it is as if they are savoring every last moment before the move.  Some have shown anger.  My guess is this is really evidence of the hurt they feel at the loss of relationship. Others now talk about the freedom of moving themselves, as if now that one family has exited the neighborhood it would be better to get out before you are the last one left.  Some have simply kept to themselves, probably not wanting to engage the reality of the loss.  For others there is just numbness, the reality has not yet set in.

I thought to myself, what we need is another neighborhood meeting where we can be heard, and express the hurt and loss we feel.  Where we can ask questions, reassure one another, and comfort one another.  Where we can offer to one other the gift the officer offered to us the last time something significant took place in our neighborhood, the opportunity to heal and move forward.  I wonder if they would be up for it?

The day my neighbor’s were moving out, I stepped out the front door just as their son was walking to school.  He said to me, “Hi Ron. I am moving today, I won’t live here anymore.”  I said, “I know Xavier.  It makes me sad and we are going to miss you. I want you to know that we would love to have you come and visit any time. You are always welcome in our home.”  You could see that tears were welling up in his eyes.  He was doing his best to hold back the urge to burst out crying.  He said, “I will miss you too” and then he changed the subject.  He told me that he had to get to school because he was going on a field trip.  I told him to have a great time, and then I said, “Xavier, I want you to know we love you very much.”  He nodded and then turned and walked off to school.

That brief interaction contained nearly all of the elements we need to be able to journey through the loss we now feel as a neighborhood.  Xavier and I were able to acknowledge the reality of what was happening.  We were able to communicate the value we have for one another.  We were able, albeit in a very quick moment, acknowledge the loss we were feeling, and we were able to find some hope in what comes next, even if it is just an end of the year field trip with the class to the park and the hope of future visits where we will catch up.  Thankfully, the first one came right after school when he told me all about the fun he had on the field trip.

As much as I would desire that none of my neighbors would ever move, it is not reality.  Life happens.  Loss happens.  People move.  Yes, it is painful, but it is only painful because the relationships have been important, meaningful and life giving.  I would rather go through a season of grief than never have experienced the gift of relationship I have been able to share with my neighbors.

One last note, Xavier means “bright new house”.  My prayer, as he and his family move to their new home, is it would indeed be a bright new house, where they will make many new friends. Where their neighbors would become like family and where he and his sisters would feel as loved as they are here on Hackett.