TheBanyanTree: Paddy next door

[Anita Coia]

I found out last night that our elderly neighbour, the one on the right with
the immaculate garden and the beautiful camellia bushes, died a few weeks
ago.  A few WEEKS ago.  We hadn't even noticed. 

 

We don't see our neighbours much - only the ones with cars, really, as we
are leaving in the morning or returning home at night. Even then, not much.
If there's a house being auctioned, you might bump into people while
inspecting the house. I know hardly anyone's names. This is a typical outer
suburban area, a former housing estate, dominated by car travel.  The house
blocks are smaller than the old quarter acre blocks, so it's not as if we
are separated from each other by acres of bush or paddocks.

 

Not many streets have footpaths around here, forget being friendly for
bicycles. This era of powerful cars means quite a few people hoon around the
streets so you have to be careful. Shops are centralised - no more little
local shops, milk bars or cafes. That's fine in the inner city, but not out
here - you need to jump in your car to go and get the paper, or milk, or
bread.  And everyone is working so hard.

 

So you don't walk past your neighbour's houses much.  And if you do, they're
probably not home.  Paddy was old-school, the kind of neighbour I remember
as a child, who would potter in the front garden as a way of socialising
with everyone who walked past. The type of neighbour that kids visit
regularly to sell school raffle tickets, or to ask to be sponsored for their
fun-run - and who would always offer a couple of bucks and a smile and a
chat.  Ones that walked slow and had hair growing out of their ears and
smelt a bit musty, but always seemed to be there.  

 

Paddy had retained his thick Irish accent which, with his pronounced
deafness, made chatting a bit of a challenge. But he knew what was going on
in the street, and was probably the best security system we had. He had been
in this area for a very long time, probably 30-40 years. I'm not sure, but I
suspect he bought his house brand new. He remembered all the orchards that
used to be in this area, now long gone in favour of eyesore medium-density
unit developments of minimum-standard construction.

 

Paddy's wife died a few years ago - again, I'm not sure when. Before I moved
here, which was six years ago. He missed her so much. He talked about her
all the time. He wore his heart on his sleeve - he was not embarrassed to
tell people how much he loved and missed his wife.  One of his adult sons
lived with him, but he was lonely all the same, and I'm sure he was
conscious of not intruding on his sons' life. 

 

Paddy took his own life. How terrible is that - a lonely old man ending it
by himself.  It must have been a weekend we were away, as we never saw any
police or ambulances, not a single thing out of the ordinary.  I didn't
believe it when I was told he had died, as my husband saw him just a few
weeks ago, and everything seemed just as it had always been.

 

Now I'm feeling terrible. I know I probably couldn't have done anything to
prevent what happened - he clearly had made up his own mind.  He visited his
church group the night before and was in good spirits, by all reports. He
had lots of friends who looked out for him and didn't see it coming.  He had
a supportive family who he didn't choose to confide in about how he felt.
But all those times when I thought "I should go next door and invite Paddy
over for a cuppa, or drop in a box of chocolates for Easter" and didn't
because I was too busy or too tired, are now weighing very heavily on my
heart.

 

Anita