I just found out that my former next-door neighbor, whom I've posted (and griped) about many times, died a few days ago.
→[More:]
Nancy had lived in the house next door for 25 years or so. She moved out -- was kicked out, by her parents -- late last year. (Some backstory
here.)
She was always drunk. Her drinking, and her health, had gotten noticably worse over the past year. In September, the man she was living with got into a fight with her son (from whom she had been estranged). Nancy was shouting "He's trying to kill me! He's trying to kill me!" Larry was arrested in the driveway, at gunpoint. There were 7 police cars and two fire trucks and an ambulance blocking our little street for an hour.
It was a couple months later that she was forced out of the house. She moved into a room on the next block, but that only lasted for a month. She then moved down the street, within sight of her old house. (Her cat made the first move with her, but disappeared after the second. Over the course of a couple months she lost her house, her boyfriend, her cat, and what little good health she had remaining.)
During the 8 years that I've lived here, I've probably had to call 911 15 or 20 times because of stuff going on at Nancy's place. There were other times when I probably should have called the cops, or an ambulance, but didn't. (See
here.) There was a constant cast of shady characters going in and out. For one stretch a couple summers ago, there was a woman living in the garage, dealing drugs and turning tricks. Last year, or the year before, I had to drive her to the hospital twice, very late at night. (One time she was naked from the waist down.)
She sometimes hit me up for money (see first link). She came by last week asking if I could loan her a couple bucks until she could get to the bank. I said no, because I've been living out of my change jar (and because I don't want to give her money for booze or drugs). She begged. I refused. She got angry and left.
On the other hand, all things considered, she was actually a pretty good neighbor. Even though her driveway often had walls of junk piled up in it, and the smoke from her cheap cigarettes wafted into my windows, and there were domestic disturbances over there on at least a monthly basis -- despite all that, she always kept an eye on my house, was friendly, would loan me a tool or something if I needed it. One time she
mowed my lawn, and my other neighbor's, without being asked. (Probably it was a passive-aggressive attempt to get a few bucks, but it was still a nice thing to do.)
Nancy had gone downhill, though. Her parents wrote her off, kicked her out of the house that they co-owned with her. My busybody neighbor said it was because Nancy wouldn't go to rehab, and they got fed up. (She had gone to rehab a few times that I know about, but never lasted for more than a day.) I guess the rest of the neighborhood wrote her off too. I refused to give her money twice over the past couple months. Now I know that other neighbors did too.
One night last week, she asked my busybody neighbor Joan to drive her to the hospital. Joan said No. She then asked Bill, the man down the street (who's in a wheelchair) to drive her. He said No. She didn't ask me. I don't know if I was away, or if it was because I'd refused to give her money a couple nights before.
She finally called an ambulance.
Turned out she had two perforated ulcers. They operated, and she was fine. She was in recovery for several days, and was fine. She was caught smoking a cigarette (while she was on oxygen, for christ's sake), and they found her hiding another one in her gown. For several days, she was fine.
Then she just died.
The doctors were shocked, apparently. She'd had no complications.
I wonder if they were detoxing her, or doing anything to deal with the withdrawal she was certainly experiencing.
In any case, she's dead.
Neighbor Joan said she thought it was like a cruel joke, that she'd go like that. I'm not so sure. After such a rough life, and after showing again and again that she was not going to get clean, and that she was somewhat accepting of the fact that things were never going to go right for her -- I think it's almost
fortunate that she died in a hospital. At least she didn't die on the street. And over the past year, that's looked like an increasing possibility.
Nancy was a pain in the ass. I'm realizing now that a lot of that was that she made me deal with stuff I didn't want to deal with: Saying No, witnessing arguments and violence, feeling pity, feeling a certain sense of "but for the grace of god." It would have been more comfortable not to be around all that.
But shit, it was her
life. All that was her life.
It's making me feel really reflective: What do you have to do, and how long do you have to do it, before everyone absolutely gives up on you? What line do you have to cross before your parents sell your home out from under you and your neighbors refuse to take you to the hospital? And how do you know that you've exhausted, for the final time, the goodwill of everyone in your life? How do you recognize it's happening, and how do you prevent it from happening?
Nancy never figured that stuff out. She had a shitty life, and it's over now. It's tempting to try to spin that into a good thing, but I don't know for sure if it is. Just don't know.
In any case, I hope she finally has some peace.