Thank you, Ron Shpiller

I used to love to sing in the shower. I still do but as a child, it was my only safe space. I knew if I was singing in there, nobody would come to tell me I was being too loud or too annoying. Once the door was closed and the shower was running, I was in my own little world. Our apartment was at the entrance of the building so it’s very likely people could hear me singing but I pretended nobody could in order to keep my safe space a private space. That is, until one day a neighbor rang our doorbell and said, “Were you just in the shower?” Confused, I said, “uhh, yes?” He continued, “I was walking into the building and I heard really beautiful singing. I just wanted to tell you it was beautiful.” I was so embarrassed to learn that anyone heard me sing but also touched to think anyone found my singing to be nice. That’s not the description I often heard when it came to my singing voice. My oldest sister would bluntly say that our other sisters were born with singing talent and I was not. “You think you sound like them but you don’t. You’re not good.” So, I tried to keep my voice private from the outside world but obviously didn’t do a very good job.

One day another neighbor, Ron, rang our apartment doorbell. When I answered he said he heard that I loved to sing and that I dreamt of playing guitar. I said that I hoped I’d own my own guitar someday. He asked me to step into the hallway, directing my focus to the wall outside of my apartment. There, in a big black case, was a brand-new acoustic guitar with a receipt from Sam Ash. “I didn’t know what kind you wanted but the salesperson said this was a good one to learn on. The receipts there in case you need anything for it as proof of purchase. There’s also some guitar picks and a strap. Maybe someday you can be the next Mandy Moore. Don’t give up on your dreams.”

I hugged him and held back tears. I squealed and thanked him profusely, in shock that I not only had something brand new, but had something that was 100% mine and given to me because someone believed in me. I grew up in an environment where people said one thing but their actions didn’t always align. I knew people audibly believed in me but I didn’t have many examples of that being true. Ron gave me that example. Ron gifted me something far more important to me than my dream of owning a guitar; he gave me the gift of knowing someone believed in me.

When my family was struggling in the depths of poverty, there were times when there was no food in our fridge or cabinets. I vividly remember bare shelves with maybe one loaf of bread and not much else. Ron surprised us with huge trays of food from his restaurant. To avoid us feeling like charity, he said we were the ones doing him a favor by “taking it off his hands” because he happened to have leftovers at the restaurant. Whether that’s true or not, the leftovers fed us for weeks.

When we were evicted, I mourned losing the village of neighbors I trusted and grew up beside. I felt like suddenly I was the outsider and reaching out to them was “off limits” because an eviction is “shameful and embarrassing.” I remember thinking they would be too uncomfortable hearing from me. A lot of the friends I had in school suddenly fell silent; it would hurt too much if people I’ve had in my life for far longer would do the same. It felt safer to remain at a distance. It felt like I was protecting myself by not reaching out to anyone.

Years into homelessness, my mother and sister ran into Ron at a John Edwards event. It was a Mother’s Day gift from my sister for my mom to see John Edwards live but what are the chances Ron would be there too? From what I heard, he was so excited to see them. We all ended up reconnecting through Facebook and it’s through there, that I finally got to message him about how much the gifted guitar meant to me. I’ve since joked that I still don’t know how to play, I’m not Mandy Moore, but it’s hung in my home for the last 13 years. It hangs behind me in my office today. He told me it’s never too late to learn. It remains a symbol to believe in myself.

He told me that he had been on vacation when we were evicted and returned to find our apartment empty. He explained it broke his heart and, had he known that was happening, he would have welcomed me into his home so that I had a safe place to stay. I believe him. I genuinely believe he would have been the first to offer a safe place to land had he known and had I ever reached out after it happened.

Ron has been a big supporter in my spiritual journey but also my life journey. He’s commented on my posts with encouragement and love. He’s shared his heart on the hard posts too. He’s messaged me about all of his health issues and we’ve had deeper conversations of the soul than 16-year-old Megan ever thought was possible with her next-door neighbor.

Though he and I have drastically different political beliefs, the content of Ron’s character is what shone so bright throughout my life and toward the end of his own. He worked for the NYC Transit Authority and was a first responder on 9/11. He sacrificed his own health to find and collect the remains of victims in effort to give some closure to their loved ones. We spoke of this once, somewhat recently, and he expressed how important this role was to him; treating it as a sacred responsibility for the lives that were lost and for those who would miss them.

NYC Transit Authority first responders were shut out of the disability pension that they rightfully deserve. His health suffered so much as a result of this work and he fought hard for the disability pension that other first responders received. We spoke last year about how he was still fighting to receive this pension but sadly, it never came. I found out this morning that on September 10th, 2024, Ron went home to heaven. I am not surprised by the symbolism. His life was entirely changed on 9/11. He leaves behind so many people who love him.

In the last year, he found so much joy in the photos and videos I’d share of Jack. He’d tell me how happy he was that I found my husband and that he was so proud of the mom I’ve become. As a child, Ron was there for me in many of the ways my own father wasn’t. As an adult, he supported me in ways other family members have not. Monday morning, I messaged him because he had been on my mind a lot but didn’t see his usual prompt response. On Wednesday I checked in because I know the anniversary is traumatic, especially for him. It’s been three days and I didn’t hear back. I checked his Facebook, only to find memorial posts about him.

My heart is selfishly hurting but I also feel so much relief for him. He deserved to live to be 100. He deserved to have great health and enjoy his retirement with his family. He deserved so much and yet he constantly gave to those he loved. May God bless him and his family. May his soul enjoy his freedom.

I once channeled for a woman who worked in organ procurement. I cannot remember her exact title but I can remember how many souls came forward for her session. The room filled with souls who wanted to say thank you for being so caring with the process. Thank you for caring for their organs in such a sensitive and mindful way. It filled with the souls of people who received organ transplants but have since passed. They thanked her for extending their lives, even for a little bit. It filled with souls of people whose loved ones received donated organs and were able to live longer lives because of her care and concern over each donation. Each soul thanked her in a deeply impactful way for something she did because her soul felt a sacred responsibility.

I imagine the outpouring of love Ron received when he transitioned was similar in magnitude. I imagine each person he prayed over, after gathering their remains from the rubble at 9/11, each person he found in his years working for NYCTA, and each life he touched by being a great neighbor, friend, colleague, and family member… I am sure he was greeted by the most powerful reminder that his sacrifice was not in vain.  

They say that we are raised by a village and I had quite the village that impacted my life. Ron was a very important part of that. I have only shared a fraction of the man he was but I know it’s apparent, even by minimally sharing his memory, that he was an extraordinary man and is an even more special soul. May he feel relief to have returned to his truest form and may we all continue to feel the light he has shined onto us throughout his life. May his memory and the kindness he showed others help him live on eternally. God bless you, Ron. Thank you.