Getting a phone call from my dad who was extremely upset. Hearing the voice mail before I called him back, I knew something was wrong. I thought of him and my mom and wondered who was sick – what was the news I was going to get. I took a deep breath and called.
They have been working for 2 years to get their mortgage right with their bank. 2 long LONG years. Through my mom’s misdiagnosis then ultimate diagnosis of Crohn’s. Through the surgery, my dad’s firing from his job (yay non-profit politics), and more health issues. About 6 months ago, the bank came to an accord with them. If my parents made inflated payments 4 months in a row, the bank will re-write the loan, give my parents a couple months to recover before they start new payments.
My parents have worked their asses off to make this work. They are literally weeks away from signing papers and all.
And BAM! Unexpected car repairs right before Mom needs to come to her specialist – 3hrs from her home.
I took care of it for them. Wanting to keep things on track for them.
This morning, they were hit with another thing.
The dentist my dad had some major dental work with decided they no longer wanted to accept payments on the huge outstanding bill (even after insurance). They did the work knowing it would take a few months for him to pay it off. They agreed to give him terms.
They sold his bill to an overly aggressive debt collector. Oh, and he has 5 days to come up with a pretty good sum of money before they splash “bad debtor” all over my parents’ credit report. Paying it puts the mortgage deal at major risk of falling through – then they would lose their home. Not paying it puts risk that the bank will see it as a sign they shouldn’t give them the written mortgage. My parents are stuck.
No one should hear their father in tears at 8:30am in the morning. Frustration, stress, failure, broken pride – yeah, all were driving it. And because Dad was pretty much forced to retire due to the bad job market and prospective employers seeing a man on the verge of retirement and passing, Dad doesn’t feel he contributes much – that instead he adds to Mom’s stress – stress she can’t have because of her Crohns.
Yeah, I’m taking care of it for them. I made the mistake of not pretending I was my mom when I called them. Dad didn’t give me any info but he gave me enough. So now I have to have him call them and say “you have permission to talk to my daughter about it.” I was trying hard to avoid that for him – but alas, my anger for them got the better of me and blunt/honest/direct came out of my mouth.
It’s funny because after a particularly frustrating meeting, I was standing in the elevator asking myself “why the fuck am I still here?” Then I get this call….
…..this is why I’m still here. I don’t just support my husband and kids – I support my parents too. I am all they have that they can lean on – who doesn’t judge, fret about it too much, or dwell on it. My parents get things taken care of – and leave with their pride in tact.