Being a realtor has many rewards other than financial. There’s nothing like finding a young couple their first home, helping them navigate through the various stages of buying a property that are still so alien to the inexperienced. They’re thankful for everything along the way and often we become lifelong friends.
Here in Cape May County at the southern tip of New Jersey, we sell primarily vacation homes. For many families that have worked hard their entire life, finally being able to afford this second home at the shore is the fulfillment of a dream. We sell dreams. It feels sooo good.
But there is another scenario for a realtor that is not so pleasing. In fact, it is sad.
Here at Jewell Real Estate Agency, we have had several occasions where we have sold a home for an elderly person and moved them directly into an assisted living home.
Two of my favorites ladies were Helen Smith and Clara Carr. Mrs. Smith – as I called her out of respect and she called me Mr. Jewell – had lived in the same single family home in Wildwood since 1953. When I first met her and listed her home in 2005, her husband had been deceased for over 15 years. He had built the home himself – with a small apartment over top – and Mrs. Smith was proud of her property, as she should. The craftsmanship was nice, though the property was obviously outdated.
After a few months, we put the property “under contract”. In 60 days, Mrs. Smith would be leaving the only home she’d known for over a half century. She was upset, but knew that she was no longer physically able to maintain the property. With no relatives close by, I offered to move the belongings she was keeping to the assisted living facility 12 miles away. She was relieved and gave me a big hug. We each had a tear in one eye.
When the big day came, I brought along two of my maintenance guys and two pickup trucks. We moved her bed, favorite bureau and stuffed chair, an end table or two, and the few boxes of clothes and such that she had so carefully packed. Her family had come from out of state to pick through her possessions and take what they wanted, so we then packed everything else in the house and took several loads to drop off at a charity.
We got Mrs. Smith settled into her new room on the second floor of the facility, patiently placing each piece of furniture and possessions exactly where she wanted them. “A little to the left,” the 90-year old would request. No problem. I promised to visit her, then left.
Clara – she called me Doug – and I had history. A few years prior she was still on top of her game and sharp as a pin. We had belonged to an environmental group together and stood on picket lines holding protest signs. Nothing stopped Clara. She was right there along with the rest of us.
We sold Clara’s house in 2003. She was being pressured by a daughter to come live with them in another state. It was hard to say goodbye to my 75-year old friend and comrade. It was also hard to see her give up most of her lifelong possessions knowing she would be limited to one room of space in her daughter’s house.
And so, a week after moving Mrs. Smith to the assisted living facility I returned for a visit to see how she was making out. We hugged and talked for an hour about her new home and the world in general. Then she said, “By the way, I ate lunch with a friend of yours the other day.” It was Clara. I was dumbfounded.
A few minutes later I was knocking on Clara’s door down the hall. We hugged and had a tearful reunion. It turns out that living with her daughter didn’t work out, so having no other options she moved to this facility to be back in her hometown. We talked for a couple hours and Clara hadn’t lost a beat. She was still totally together in mind and body.
And so a couple years passed. I would visit Mrs. Smith and Clara around Christmas and a couple other times a year. Then one visit I discovered that Clara had recently had a stroke and her speech was difficult to understand. Still, we were both all smiles seeing each other.
On my last visit, in 2008, I sat with Mrs. Smith first and we talked and talked. I mentioned that I was going to see Clara next, but she warned me that Clara had gone downhill lately. “Don’t be surprised if she doesn’t recognize you,” she said. She was right. Clara was totally confused when I entered her room and didn’t recognize me. She might have even been a little afraid of this stranger. I left, disheartened by the loss of my friend.
Mrs. Smith died two months later. At 93, she was still mentally on point right up to the end.
It makes me sad to think of the loss of my two friends. But because of being a realtor I had the opportunity to really get to know these wonderful ladies. I cherish our memories.
- Mountain Man
http://www.MountainManandCityGirl.com
