I’ve lived on this street almost nine years. No one hustles like Marcellus, our UPS guy—rain, heat, holidays, you name it. Always smiling, always remembering names. Last year, he even gave my son a mini football “just lying around.” Right.

We all talked about how he’d leave heavy packages behind fences or wait ten minutes so Mrs. Choudhury could sign for her meds.

Then Suki posted that Marcellus’s wife had passed away. Everything changed.

The next day, the street rallied—Venmo donations, pies, cards. We timed it with his route. When he pulled up to Lena’s house, we were all there, holding signs and pies. One card said, “You show up for everyone. Now it’s our turn.”

Marcellus froze. Covered his mouth. And when asked if he was okay, he said, “I didn’t even think anyone knew.”

We handed him an envelope—over $2,300. He blinked, then said,
“This’ll help me stay in the house.”

Turns out, he had been carrying it all quietly—medical bills, mortgage, everything.

After that, we didn’t just wave. We showed up. Dinners, dog walks, small kindnesses.

Because sometimes, showing up is everything.

You never know what someone’s carrying. A little kindness can mean the world.