I received a note yesterday. It was left on my back porch by a neighbor. In it was a message from my neighbor’s husband who is terminally ill with cancer.
This man and I had been good friends until a tulmultous personal issue came between us. As a result, and as humanity often goes, my neighbor and I did not speak for a number of years. Fortunately, in the recent past we began taking tentative steps back towards our friendship—a quick wave from afar, an occassional hello in passing and, his favorite form of acknowledgement—a beep of his horn as he drove past my house.
This past May, before I formally announced my candidacy, I was out for a walk in my neighborhood. My neighbor stopped as he was drlving and called out to me, “Run,” Taking him literally, I laughed and replied, “i don’t run anymore, My knees can’t take it. I only walk these days.”
With a wave of his hand, my neighbor brushed aside my response and said, “No. I mean for the Assembly. Run. You’ll be good at it.” And off he drove without further conversation.
Yesterday, in reading the note from his wife, she wrote that her husband wanted me to know he had already voted for me. That he wished me success. The words touched my heart deeply and I was so glad, relieved actually, that he and I had found a way to reconnect.
And I realized that some votes truly do count more.
In honor and memory of my neighbor who passed away today.