For 12 Years, I Delivered Groceries to My Elderly Neighbor. After His Funeral, His Lawyer Gave Me a Worn Suitcase
Every Sunday for twelve years, I carried groceries to Ezra Harrison’s front door.
He was 84 when we first met. His hands shook, his steps were slow, and the nearest supermarket was several blocks away. Helping him seemed like the natural thing to do.
Our weekly routine was simple. I brought bread, milk, fruit, and whatever else appeared on his carefully written list. Sometimes I stayed for coffee. Other times, we sat quietly while an old radio played beside his chair.
Ezra often spoke about Margaret, his late wife. He described their first apartment, the garden she loved, and the Sundays they spent cooking together.
I never considered those visits remarkable. They were simply part of my week.
Then Ezra passed away.
Three days after the funeral, his lawyer called and asked me to visit his office.
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