Bill, bill, another bill, I thought, sorting through the envelopes I’d carried in from the mailbox outside to read to my husband, Bob. Complications of diabetes had robbed him of his eyesight, and now it seemed as if our financial obligations were going to rob us of much more.
We were in debt. Deep in it. Bob had once made a good living as a traveling salesman, selling Western-style clothing and apparel to stores in nine southeastern states.
But that was before his health problems. Congestive heart failure, open heart surgery, five bypasses. Then the blindness forced him into immediate retirement.
My salary as a secretary didn’t stretch enough to cover the more than $400 dollars worth of medications Bob needed every month, much less food, insurance, mortgage payments, auto repair and the expenses of raising our two kids. We’d burned through the last of our savings quickly.
Our only choice seemed to be to take out a second mortgage. I’d already made several visits to the mortgage broker and our attorney, and the paperwork was being drawn up. But that solution came with its own problems.
While the money would cover our bills for the time being, it would raise our monthly mortgage payment and increase our long-term debt. I was dreading my appointment with the broker the next day to finalize the transaction.
I found my husband sitting at his roll top desk. I flipped through the stack of envelopes. One of them didn’t look like a bill. It had a Florida return address I didn’t recognize. “I wonder what this could be?” I said.
I tore open the envelope and took out the letter. A piece of paper slipped out onto the desk. I picked it up.
It was a check! The letter explained it was the last remaining balance from my mother-in-law’s bank account. She had passed away more than a year before.
I called up the mortgage broker and cancelled my appointment. There was no need. The check was made out for the exact amount we would have received from the second mortgage, to the penny.
