The Power of a Wave

When my husband suffered a sudden stroke in the middle of the night, I learned that the smallest gestures—like the wave of a neighbor—can hold a community together.

It was just after 2:45 a.m. when my husband returned from a work trip. Fifteen minutes later, he was dizzy, in pain, and struggling to speak. By the time I called 911, he couldn’t move, and his breathing had turned irregular. In those terrifying minutes before help arrived, I didn’t know if I was saying goodbye.

That morning, a clot-busting medication saved his life. But in the hours and days that followed, I discovered another kind of miracle—one that had been quietly forming since the day we moved to The Grove.

As a psychotherapist working in California during the pandemic, I had seen firsthand the heavy toll of social isolation and the collective trauma of COVID-19. Add to that society’s increasing dependence on smart devices (think endless doom scrolling), and many of us were left feeling disconnected and without community.

So, when my husband and I toured a new community over four years ago—thinking a move might be in our future—the thing that struck us most wasn’t the houses or the scenery. It was that every single person we passed, whether on foot or in a car, slowed down and waved. A small gesture, yes, but it made us feel instantly welcome.

A year later, we became proud homeowners there. Within days, we were sitting at a new friend’s dinner table, sharing stories. We eagerly waved to everyone on our morning walks and were met with the same warmth in return. That sense of belonging was something we had never experienced before—and we wanted more of it.

Over time, though, I noticed a shift. Fewer people were waving back. I began to wonder: were we getting so used to living in this neighborhood that the novelty of engaging with others had worn off? Could this small change affect our community in a bigger way? 

Then came July 11 and my husband’s stroke.

And while that miracle medication saved his life, I was left in fear and exhaustion. How would we make it through this? Would he be okay?  Would I be okay? Yet even as I anxiously pondered these things,  I witnessed another kind of miracle involving our community in the hours and days that followed.

At 4 a.m., I sent a text to a few friends. By mid-morning, they were at the hospital with food, clothes, and hugs. They made me eat when I couldn’t imagine eating. They brought blankets and pillows, knowing the hospital chair I was sleeping in was never meant for comfort.

Friends cleaned my home after the EMTs left, did my laundry, picked up my son from the airport, watered my plants, and collected my mail. They set up a meal train and stood like a protective wall around me so I could focus on my husband and children.

They held me when I had no words. They let me cry. They let me laugh. They let me sleep in their beds when I couldn’t face returning to my own. By that first evening, I knew that hundreds of people—friends, neighbors, even strangers—were praying for us.

At that moment, I understood what that wave all those years ago meant to me:  that true community shows up for one another. Those friends, many of whom I had known for only a short time, taught me that I am not alone. They anticipated my needs before I could name them. They loved me when I was exhausted and fed me when I was hungry. They reminded me that as humans, we really do need each other.

I am so grateful that my husband is doing amazingly well post stroke. This major life event will shift us in ways we don't even know yet. But we are moving forward with grace and hope.

So when you are out walking in your own community, please wave. You never know how much a small gesture can mean—for someone else, and maybe even for you.

How to Build Connection and Community

• Be the first to wave. It creates community and warmth.

• Join or start a local group. Book clubs, walking groups, volunteer projects.

• Share what you have. Produce from your garden, fresh cookies, or an extra ladder.

• Show up. Attend local events, meetings, and celebrations.

• Offer help before it’s asked. Sometimes the gesture matters more than the task.

Lori T. Howard is a licensed Marriage and Family Therapist who specializes in traumatic grief and loss. You can reach her at Lorithoward.com