I learned of Lee Cheney’s passing in a card that arrived in my mailbox earlier this month. He died in the small community just outside Albany, New York, where he and his wife Pat had been residing for the past decade or so.

The Cheneys were my first Maine neighbors. I thoroughly enjoyed residing on Westward Lane in Saco, but it wasn’t solely the house, the first for which my monthly payments went toward paying off a mortgage rather than rent, that elicits such fond memories. It was the people who occupied the place next door.

Veteran homeowners whose children were already grown, Lee and Pat were probably half a generation older than me, but half a generation younger than my parents. They knew a lot of local lore, but shared information appropriately, discreetly, and only when it was relevant. Any and all background or details about local happenings and the people involved with them were shared in a matter-of-fact, informative way, rather than a gossipy one.

The houses in our neighborhood were close together. Most of the lots on the dead-end street were sized similarly; ours was, according to the deed, .17 acres. It was, at the time, the perfect place to live. I could cut every blade of grass in the yard (and rake it up if I ever wanted to, though I rarely did) in less than a half-hour.

Lee and Pat were the ideal next-door neighbors: friendly, helpful, and fun without being ubiquitous, prying, or judgmental. When we had the sorts of questions new homeowners inevitably do, whether they concerned ice jams, flooded basements, or how best to fertilize tomato plants, Lee and Pat were happy to help. They also weren’t afraid to request assistance themselves when it was necessary. Nothing made (or makes) me feel more vital than being asked for aid I am capable of providing, like helping to lift something requiring two pairs of reasonably strong hands, or retrieving an object located on a shelf too high for most people to reach without a stepladder. Of all the reasons for me to appreciate my neighbors, the most significant was that they accepted and celebrated me for who I was and what I was good at, rather than fixating on or getting irritated over the many useful skills I quite apparently didn’t possess.

Lee and Pat made me feel like I was part of the neighborhood from the very first day I moved in, which was no small feat. Virtually everyone is a nominal stranger at some point(s) in life, and at those times smooth assimilation cannot be taken for granted. Unqualified acceptance isn’t fully appreciated until the time arrives when it isn’t instantly forthcoming. When all an individual desires is to fit into a new situation professionally, culturally, or personally, timely kindness and cooperation from utterly random sources can be the difference between a smooth transition and a painful, traumatic setback As a taller-than-average white male with no discernible accent and a non-remarkable mode of dress, I’ve undoubtedly been guilty more than one once of taking my relatively stress-free, heartache-free, doubt-free existence for granted. I know now people like Lee, Pat, and countless other similarly generous, compassionate, and tolerant people were a big reason for that. Every professional, personal, and physical rebooting I’ve experienced concluded with a soft landing, and that was thanks to kindhearted people like Lee and Pat, who invariably provided necessary, timely and much-needed support. It’s because of people like them I have, at least so far, precious little experience with long-term loneliness or disconnection, a state of affairs for which I am profoundly grateful.

At around midnight on an early January night in 2001 my pregnant wife’s water broke unexpectedly. With barely enough time to collect anything beyond our thoughts we hurried to the hospital, where our son was born the next day. That night York County got hit with a significant storm, meaning I had to make a challenging drive home the next morning, clear a path to the house, and collect the necessities we had, in our haste, neglected to bring to the hospital. Sleep-deprived and anticipating backbreaking labor, as I turned onto our street I was treated to the sight of Lee, Pat, and another neighbor, each of whom was significantly older and smaller than I was, tossing the last shovelfuls of snow from our driveway.

If you believe, as I do, the words of Jackie Robinson, who famously said, “A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives,” then Lee Cheney’s recently completed time on Earth was exceptionally significant.