I drove out of my remote driveway, late for an appointment that Friday. The police crime lab van was parked at my neighbors, two doors down … such a sad omen.

No one knows another’s life “until they have walked a mile in their moccasins.” I hustled past and relied on this newspaper to report the story. They did: (“Sidney woman charged with murder,” Dec. 20.)

The KJ described the house in “our neighborhood.” We don’t have a “neighborhood.” Just a twisting road where drivers disobey the speed limit, and whoever lived in “that house” took their life into their hands most every time they attempted a left turn out of that driveway. Stress. Fear. Inconsiderate driving.

That house seemed to change hands every three years or so.

And we are left with what? Sins of omission. I should have delivered a pie when I noted a new owner there. I could have walked my dog with her when we met, instead of us continuing on our preplanned routes.

As a native Mainer, I’m independent, maybe too much so. Obviously too much, when you don’t take time to talk about the hazards of living on the corner, or invite someone over for tea. Time to change, even at the risk of some vulnerability.

Stress. Darkness. Job loss. Lack of emotional support. Results can be traumatic. I must open my eyes and do better. Please, let us strive to do better too. Try and love your neighbor. Even if you fail at this, you will not have failed. Failure in such matters is an illusion.

Heidi Chadbourne

Manchester