Some people live, while others just wait.Vincent, my lonely old neighbor, was one of those folks.He would sit in his wheelchair every day and look out at the road as if he were waiting for something that never came.He never smiled or talked more than once until the day our worlds met.
Do you ever simply sit in your car after you drop the kids off at school and look?It feels like everything—bills, laundry, dinner, and life—is pressing down on your chest, daring you to do something about it.
I had one of those moments one morning.I was simply seated there, holding the wheel, contemplating, “What is the purpose of anything when it feels like you’re merely surviving?”
I shook it off.That’s what mothers do.We shake it off, keep going, and get on.
But that day, for some reason, I remembered a man who once told me that life had a point.He said that you are important even when you think no one can see you.
Vincent was the name of the man who never smiled.
I moved into my dad’s old house with my two boys, Ashton and Adam, who were 12 and 14 at the time.ey were all thin and often got into trtrouble.asn’t much, but it was ours.
I found Adam in his new room crying and hugging an old picture of his grandfather that night after we moved in.”in.s him, Mom,” he replied quietlquietly.asionally I miss Dad too.”I ktoo.”houldn’t, but I do.
I held him tight, and my heart crushed.”Icrushed.o miss him. It’s accep.le to feel how you do, sweetie.”
“sweetie.”eft us,” Adam’s voice trembled.”He trembled.ver us.”
Even though my heart hurt, I said firmly, “That’s his loss.””Because loss.”nd Ashton?”You’re thAshton?”ng that has ever happened to me.
My hubby left us years ago to be with another womanHe always paidwoman.ld support on schedule, but he never contacted or brought presents to ask how the kids were doing.
Because my mother departed when I was young, I understood better than to trust anyone.Now it was justanyone.e of us versus everyone else.
Then there was Vincent, my neighbor.
His house was right next to ours, and it was always quiet.He never had frienquiet. he merely went out to purchase food.He sat in his wheelchfood.the porch and looked out at the road as if he were waiting for something that never came.
I’d say “Good morning” when I saw him.
He would say, “Good morning.”
That was the only thing we had in common.He would only say “Hicommon.ng,” and “Hello,” and nothing else.
I assumed this was how life would be: being a mother and a homemaker, with days melting together and no noise.
I was shocked when my boys did something I had instructed them not to do for years.
When I was doing the dishes, they came in the door, loud and excited.
“Hey, Mom, look what we got!Ashton yelled and held on got!”ll of fur that was moving.
A charming German Shepherd puppy wiggled between them, its huge ears bouncing and tail waving as if it already belonged.When Ashton carefully labelonged.le one down on the floor, I couldn’t believe what I saw.
“Excuse me? Where did you get that?”I blinked and asked, already that?”f the answer.
Adam quickly added, “He was free.””This woman was giving them awafree.”aid that if no one wanted thaway.” would go to a shelter.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Did you really think that gettinchest.y would improve the situation?”
“He’s so small!” Ashton made a point. “He’s not small!”eat much.”
point.d. “Yes, my friend, I was small onlaughed.Look at how that turned out.
“Ptoo.”Mom!” Adam begged. “We’ll take care of Mom!”ou wobegged.to do anything.
After that, Ashton looked at me with adoring eyes. “Please, Mom. You will love him..eyes.adorable.Mom.
en I saw their expectant faces, I thought about how I used to dream of getting a dog when I was a youngster. When my mom departed and tookyoungster.h her, those hopes came to an end.
“Mom?” Ashton’s voice was low. “Do you “Mom?”hat Grandpa used tolow. That every house needs a heart?
usay?dn’t get enough air. Dad always wanted us to get a dogair.I was always too scared that I would become attached and lose it.
I sighed when I saw the puppy. He was quite little, and his eapuppy.too huge for his head. His tail wagged like he loved us more than anything else in the world. There were more of them than thworld. of me.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“Asher!” Ashton yname?”
“No way,” Adam answered. “He looks like a lion.”
answered.se tell me which one is better.”
I rubbed my temples. “Guys, I don’t know. He lootemples.”
The puppy barked a little bit.
“It’s Simba!” I choose.
Ashton groaned.Simba!”de a fist. We gotgroaned.t like that.fist.
eard Vincent’s voice for the first time outside of our usual hellos two weeks later, when we were walking Simba down the street.
“Excuse me, can I talk to you?”
When I turned, I was shocked. He was watching us fromshocked.. To be more precise, he wafence.ng Simba.
I thought about it for a second, but then I waved and walked over. “Yes?”
He said, “I usedover.in German Shepherds.” “When I was in the aShepherds.”
The way he said “used to” made my chest hurt.
He also said, “Do you mind if I pet him?”
I nodded, and Vincent moved forward. His hand, which was forward.weathered, reached out. Things changed as soon aout.fingers touched Simba’s fur.
He smiled.
I had never seen him smile before.
He asked, “Can I give him a treat?”
“Yes, of course.”
He moved his chair toward his residence, but before he could even get to the door, I heard a loud CRASH. I went in. He was sluCRASH.r in in.hair with a bowl of shattered cookies at his feet.
He responded, “I’m fine,” but his hands were shaking.
“No, you’re not,” I whispered as I knelt next to him. “That’s fine,”
His him.et mine,fine.” could see that they were filled of pain from years of thingswithe hadn’t talked about. “Sometimes I forget,about.arked in a quiet voice. “I reach for things voice.sed to, like my legs still…” His voice brokestill…”
bed up a broom and didn’t listen to him. At that point, I nothim.he pictures on the walls. A lot of them. walls.
t, younger, and wearing a uniform. He was next touniform.rained shepherds that were standing at attention, jumping over stuff, and waiting for orders.
I looked at him and turned around. He was looking around.oto in particular: a younger Vincent standing in the middle of a field with five shepherds around him and his hand up in the air as if to give orders.
He said, “That’s Shadow,” and pointed to the biggest dog. “While I was on dudog.e saved my life twice. The last time…twice.ed a lot. “Her last time coslot. “Her
He responded, “I miss it,” and his voice was full of something deep. “All I cared aboudeep.ogs. My family. I cdogs.d efamily. I owned.
He stopped for a moment before answering, “I didn’t get married.” Didn’t wantmarried.”re was no nekids.o it. They were enough.it.
e murmured gently, “That was it after the accident.”
I took a deep breath and glanced at his legs. I didn’t need tlegs.hat had happened. He was stilhappened. his life was over. And that’s whenover.it.
“Could you help my boys train Simba?” I requested.
He was shocked to see me. “What?”
“You kme.ore about Shepherds than anyone else.” Vincent, teach them. “Teach me.”
them.n’t know—”
“”I—I do,” I said firmly. “You NEED firmly.
His eyes were full with tears. “Why? Why tears.”Why?to help a broken elderly man?
I said, “Because no one is broken,” thinking about my wounds. “All we wounds.o feel whole again.”
Vincent’s fingers were wrapped around the arms of his wheelchair, and his knuckles were white. He staredwhite.or a long time with his mouth twitching as if he were trying to swallow something heavy.
“I’m not sure if I can do this anymore,” he replied with a sigh. “It’s beensigh. time.”
I got closer. “Then gicloser.ry.”
I saw something in his eyes that I’d never seen before: hope, yearning, and a fight between wanting to believe and being too terrified to. Finally, hto.k a breath and closed his eyes for a moment, as if he were coming to grips with something deep inside himself.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll dosaid.
I couldn’t help but smile, even though my eyes were burning.
From then on, Vincent was a part of our lives. Every dlives.e afternoon, he sat in our yard and told my boys what to do, how to do it better, and how to get them to do it.
“Adam, don’t use an angry voice; use a firm one.” “Simba lone.”to confidence, not fear.”
“That’s nice, Ashton, but don’t let them eat too many snacks.” He hasnacks.”w orders without anticipating a reward.
One day during training, Adam grieved because Simba wouldn’t listen. “I clisten.his!” “I’m this!” enough!”
Vincent turned around, and his voice was gentle but forceful. “Lforceful.son. Do you son.hy I enjoyed working with Shepherds? BeShepherds?re like people… They need…one who believes in them and is patient and kind. “Just lkind.rust you.”
Simba changed from a boisterous puppy to a well-behaved, smart dog over time. What atime.boys? As thboys?me older, they learned to be more patient and responsible.
What about Vincent? HeVincent? again, and his formerly lonely life was suddenly replete with significance, joy, and something he thought he had lost forever.
forever.o my porch one morning with a book in his hand.
He handed it to me and said, “I wrote this a long time ago.” “Hoago.”ain shepherds.”
I read his precise notes in ink on the old pages.
“You gave me back something I thought was lost, Sandra,” he replied, looking at Simba.
My throat stung. “Istung. had met sooner,” I murmured quietly.
He said, “We might have met at the right time.”
I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat. throat.is more than just a neighbor now. Henow.ike a member of the family. family.e, just maybe, we had saved each other.
A year later, I was in my car after dropping the kids off at school. school. time, I wasn’t looking at nothinnothing.watching Vincent set up an agility course in his front yard for Simba’s afternoon training.
Adam texted me, “Mom, don’t forget that tomorrow is Vincent’s birthdbirthday.”e do something fun?”
I smiled as I remembered about how Vincent helped Ashton with his history project on military service dogs last week. week. stayed up late telling stories about his experience in the service, his voice full of pride and pain.
That night, when we all came together for our weekly family dinner, I saw Vincent smile at one of Adam’s jokes.jokes.rners of his eyes crincrinkled. like the lions in those old photographs, Simba lay at his feet, loving and protecting him.
“You know, I used to think God had forgotten about me,” Vincent saidsaid.boys were putting away the dishdishes. that recliner, I could see life go past… …ought I was donedone.he hadn’t forgforgotten.as only waiting for the right time to offer me what I needed.
“What was thatthat?” though I already knew the answer, I asked nonetheless.
He reached across the table and held my hand tightly, his eyes full of sasadness. fafamily.gogoal.reason to smile again.
I only nodded, and my eyes filled with joyful tetears.ncent taught us that every ending may be a new bebeginning.e wheelchair was no longer a jail for Vincent; it was simply his place at our family table.
And what about meme?e moments in the car in the morning had alaltered.didn’t have to wonder what the point was ananymore.knew the answer: love.The point was family.The goal was to assist other people in finding their purpose.
Occasionally, the aim was to restore a wounded veteran’s smile.