Nearly three decades ago, we bought a house on a side street in a small seaside New England town. It’s the perfect combination of people who respect your privacy yet show up at your door with dinner, a bottle of wine, or even a much-needed hug. It’s not a neighborhood of fences; in fact, it’s the opposite. It’s the kind of place where we make sure a path is cleared in order to get from one house to another. We get each other’s mail. Sometimes, we check on dogs and kids. We keep our eyes open as if everyone’s house and child were our own.

Every true neighborhood has a “heart,” and for this one, which consists of two little streets and just a handful of houses, it was Carolyn Contis. When the kids were little they would wander over there and be gone for hours, either making a craft, eating freshly baked cookies or simply sharing stories with a beloved school teacher, neighbor, friend. Carolyn was beautiful, smart, funny–her laugh was distinctive and contagious, and her stories could fill volumes of books. Stories of travel, and glamour, and friends and her brother, Ohio, Iowa, her kids–always talking about her kids and grand kids. Now that I think about it, she was probably around my age now when we moved in.

Her garden was her third child. It was her meditation and her happiness. She worried if the rabbits or deer started to nibble. She also felt anger at said rabbits and deer. She could grow anything and she did. She shared this labor of love with all of us. My personal favorite were her peonies early in the season and then the zinnias. The moonflowers, lilies and daisies were beautiful too. I learned so much from her, and was gifted all kinds of plants that now bloom every year in my own garden. And sometimes they weren’t actually gifted, the seeds just blew over in a breeze and took up residence. There were always bouquets being dropped off on my front porch. I would return the vase two weeks later only to have it filled and once again sitting on my porch the next day. It was a “boomerang” of the most gorgeous bouquets you’ve ever seen and all grown with love.

When I needed a little break from the day I’d walk next door–and I did it as often as I could. There was always excitement to see me–to see anyone–she greeted us all as if she hadn’t seen us in months. And we all knew it would not be a quick visit. If you set foot on the back deck of 5 Windsor, you needed to be prepared to settle in. Within minutes a very large glass of white wine would be poured and set in front of you (thank you Jim!). Then the twenty questions would begin about anything and everything. And then an hour would pass as if it were five minutes until suddenly you realized it was dark out. It had become two hours later and another glass of wine. She wouldn’t let you go. She needed to feel all caught up on the smallest details. She also needed to know the biggest details of every day that has passed since last she saw you.

Carolyn had one of the most colorful and beautiful lives of anyone I’ve known. The travel, the stories of this smart, elegant, successful woman, wife, mother, grandmother and friend. Carolyn was the anchor for our “hood,” the glue. In fact, speaking of glue, as a Home Ec. teacher (if you’re under a certain age, look it up.). She had an endless supply of crafts, glue, and glitter. She also had recipes for play dough. She shared all these with the neighborhood kids. I remember the day my own kids came home with some sort of animal made out of coffee filters.

The Contis’ house sits squarely in the middle of our little street. This location is fitting. Perhaps it’s why they were the center of our attention, concern, and love. Jim still is the center and heart for us all.

Today marks four years that she’s been gone. To say that we all feel it here on West Gate and Windsor would be an understatement. When she died, part of what made this place special went with her. Her garden remained for years. Her husband, daughter, and friends would go over and try to tend to it. We pretended we could make it somewhat like hers. But it never could be. To this day, every time I walk up those back steps, I feel sucker punched. I see and feel the emptiness of colorful blooms and the silence of her booming voice.

Her laughter was loud, her loyalty for her family was fierce. She was elegant, smart and she was an incredible cook. We used to talk about food for hours. My favorite story was when she cooked a dish and brought it to a friend’s house. She then learned that one of the dinner guests was Julia Child. She had so many stories like this from her incredibly full and adventurous life.

Carolyn struggled with some health issues for years but a stranger would never know it. She held her pain close and only shared with a few. She always led with a smile. She made sure everyone around her was OK before she took care of herself.

She died just a few days before we all went into COVID lockdown. There was no chance to sit and mourn. We had no opportunity to truly acknowledge this devastating loss. Our hearts were broken. And because of the isolation, it was as if she was still over there until lockdown ended. I often wished I could look over and see her “secretly” sneaking a cigarette. Her pink robe stood out, as she hid in plain sight. The neighborhood secret that was divulged with every puff and waft of smoke between our houses.

Some people live their lives and pass away, leaving an indelible mark on your heart. They have an unmistakable influence on your life. Carolyn was one of those people. She planted a garden and sowed seeds that will last for several generations from now. Her legacy will forever inspire me. I need to have flowers around me, at all times, regardless of the season. Flowers represent love and she shared that with all of us one beautiful stem at a time.

Grief is love with nowhere to go. We feel that today and have every single day that she’s been gone.