This post recounts a phone call I made one week before Christmas.
I felt like I had just been punched in the gut. I hung up the phone and stood quietly for a moment before bursting into tears.
On the other end of that call was the prospective buyer for the farm. The woman who wanted it so much she was already referring to it as “her farm.” The person who had the power to put in motion the actions which would bring my mom much closer to me.
I called her for a status update. She told me she was laid off. Yes, she still wants the farm, but she has no idea when things might fall into line that she can buy it.
And the more we talked, the larger the pit grew in my stomach. I’ve encountered this before. Someone with all the right intentions. But there is never a perfect time, a time when something doesn’t stand in their way from pulling the trigger.
The farm hasn’t come off the market, even throughout our conversations. We weren’t to the point of a contract and good faith money. But we were close.
I thought by Spring I would be able to see my mom every week or so. I thought she could visit me when I wasn’t feeling well; and when I was, I could go see her and our animals.
I’ve done everything I can think of to find a buyer. It’s only $168k; surely there’s someone who wants a beautiful little farm in West Virginia.
One of the reasons I’m fighting so hard to squeeze another six months or year of life from every ugly treatment is to spend it with the ones I love.
This deal falling through is far more than a failed real estate transaction. With no prospective buyers it’s hard to know when my mom and I will live close to one another. I find myself so profoundly sad.