Goodbye, Ms. Patty

On the right of our neighbors

“Let tears be the water to growth for where flowers bloom so does hope.”

I found this inscription on a memorial bench in my favorite garden. The chair was in memory of someone I had never met yet their investment continued to create goodness, such that I had a spot to sit by the little pond, where koi fish swim in the summer.

I had a place to consider who is living and what it means to be living.

My neighbor Ms. Patty died this month.

She was an active woman, maybe in her 60s, married to a professor. Her long blond hair swung  from a pony tail that hung out of her baseball cap. Tall, blue eyes, glasses, a few freckles. She lived in the house with a large weeping willow visible from the street, and no fence.

One summer Ms. Patty invited me to another neighbor’s birthday party. Ms. Patty asked me to attend a birthday of a person I had never met so I grabbed some chocolates and dragged my eldest child with me, and joined the party in the front driveway.

Did I think it strange to be invited last minute? I sorta liked the randomness of these requests. My laundry could wait.

I smiled awkwardly, ate some dip, made small talk with other neighbors I hardly knew. Ms. Patty was someone who tried to meet everyone, and help everyone and she just expanded the circle a little bit larger than most people.

I suppose many women would be suspicious of how I dress, covering my hair and body even on hot days. Maybe they are curious about where I buy fabulous long dresses. Maybe they think I’m like the Amish.

But Ms. Patty approached me with openness.

I don’t remember much but I do remember the promptness with which she did a good deed.

Four months ago, when my husband and kids distributed meetai to the neighbors to announce the birth of our baby, Ms. Patty was the first to arrive at my home bearing gifts.

I have no idea why.

I was in a daze, holding a newborn not quite sure why my husband was taking so long to return from the neighborhood deliveries. (It’s because every neighbor -Indian mostly- invited him in for tea!)

Ms. Patty presented me two blankets. The above was stitched or something akin to stitching. All I know how to do is order stuff on Amazon but Ms. Patty made something, with her hands. Each day I put my baby on the blanket to do her massage and exercise and I ask God to have mercy on her soul. She probably did a million other good things but I didn’t know her well enough to write those down. I knew she did not have children so she was extra sweet to all the neighborhood children.

One time, after learning about my daughter’s birthday in the middle of summer Ms.Patty brought huge boxes wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper. I was aghast.  Not only because it was too many gifts but she wrapped them!

I wrote Ms.Patty a thank you note on my best stationery and left it in her mailbox. It took me a long time to sit down to write a thank you note, and to recover from her kindness. I knew she wanted to connect. But I was miserably juggling full-time work, a difficult commute, and a stressful family life. As a Muslim I knew how important it was to observe the rights of my neighbor but I did not know how or when to make it happen.

I know I’m not the only one.

Islam emphasizes neighborliness, explicitly stating that neighbors' rights must be observed and maintained to keep the relationship strong in a prophetic community. Among these rights is kindness to neighbors.

More specifically, our duty to our neighbors includes:

1. You must help him if he asks for your help

2. Give him relief if he seeks your relief

3. Lend him if he needs a loan

4. Do not block his air by raising your building high without his permission

5. Do not harass him

6. Give him a share when you buy fruits; if you do not, bring what you buy quietly

7. You must visit (and take care of) him when he is ill

8. You must attend his funeral when he dies (and take part in burial arrangements)

9. If he commits a sin, prevent it from being known

10. Congratulate him if he is met with good fortune

11. Grieve in sympathy if a calamity befalls him

The level of empathy and concern a Muslim ought to feel for her neighbor is absolutely foreign. We express a mild obsession with strangers on this platform of Substack and their ideas; maybe we spend hours following people who are influential because of their books, but our neighbors and the elderly are completely neglected. In a few years, I’m sure no one will check on me either.

Look, I am the first to say I do virtually nothing on this list.

I don’t really grow anything except weeds and I don’t go outside enough to talk to anyone on my block. But upon hearing about my neighbor’s death, I invited 3 different neighbors over in a week! I felt like time was ticking down. Before I had “work” as my excuse not to do good deeds, but now I didn’t believe that was the real reason. So I ask myself:

If not now, when?

My American neighbor was quick to #10. She was always asking me about my kids. I have so many darling neighbors like Aisha and Zahra who have saved me from distress on many occasions. Ms. Stella gifts me and my mother gorgeous peonies. I don’t know how I was blessed with the most incredibly nice neighbors! My husband is the first to ask, what have you done as a neighbor for them? I scratch my head and shrug.

Feels like there might be a segment of paradise for these kind people, the ones who are remembered as good neighbors.

*

I’m part of a community that takes death and the rights of the deceased very seriously. Muslim men are expected to attend the janaza prayers of the deceased, whether they know the person or not. It’s incumbent upon believers to honor the rights of the deceased. It’s actually what gives people’s lives meaning, visiting cemeteries and giving company to the dead.

Our culture has lost touch with how we interact with the living, let alone the dead.

Truly, we don’t know how to speak to one another. Social media gives us a false sense of familiarity, making us feel like we know each other when we don’t. A series of memes is not a conversation. A series of links and emojis is not a real conversation. Conversation with a person is entirely somatic. Yes, we can type out stuff in our heads, and yes we can agree on values. But in-person conversation is a lost art.

There once was a sense of the private and the public. That is gone completely with GRWM videos for instance. I became a mother in an age when friends shared images of their sonograms or their kids in the bathtub. I had friends who posted every detail, every thought on social media and grew substantial followers. I have no idea why a “following” is important on Judgement Day.

To know someone, you have to sit with them, eat with them, and talk to them in real-time. You have to serve them chai. You have deal with the emotionality of the person, figure out what is their pain, and help them solve it in some tangible way. For many people, loneliness is a chronic pain. Maybe you introduce them to someone they might like. There is an exchange, I am not quite sure what it is.

I regret that I did not do anything for Ms. Patty.

May God have mercy on her soul.

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I came across this poem in one of my classes, and it captured the sentiment of this essay.

The Guest House - a Poem

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

As an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

by Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

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A Question For You

Have you met your neighbor recently?

Any ideas on what to do?

Let’s meet in the comments!

If you enjoyed this essay, you might also like “A Setting Of My Own.”

I’m Sadia. I write through the ugly (shoe) stage of motherhood, as a mom of an infant and young children trying to make space for creativity and the pursuit of spiritual knowledge. I write about topics like Sufism, culture, gratitude, and trying to live prophetically in godless times.