Gail

It was twenty two years ago when I took the call. Everyone had gone to lunch and I was the only one available to answer the phone. Her husband had passed away and he had a policy with Life of Virginia and could somebody help her with the claim? I took down her information and set a time to have her come in, only she didn’t want to drive all the way to Richmond. She lived in Hopewell. Could I come to her? 

Thus began my over two decade relationship with an elderly woman named...Gail. That she would become not only a great client but a dear friend was one of the most unlikely outcomes imaginable, for Gail was and is the most unique person I have ever met. When I pulled up in the circular driveway of her house she greeted me at the door wearing an outlandish pink and green pair of velvet pants and a silk blouse, with an unfiltered cigarette hanging out of her mouth, I remember thinking...Holy Crap. What is this I have gotten myself into? She was tiny, a wisp of a 64 year old woman, with a warm grin on her face. She thanked me for driving all the way out to Hopewell, a place she described as...a place with no hope where ain’t nobody doing well, except me!! Then, I heard that laugh for the first time, high pitched and unrestrained. I walked inside very gingerly.

Her house was beautiful on the outside, all elegant lines with a finely trimmed yard. Inside, the place was a hot mess. It wasn’t dirty, but there was stuff everywhere. Gail was a hoarder. I kept a sharp eye out for cats, but thankfully the only animal was a small Pekingese who appeared from beneath the rubble and was frantically barking at the tall, nervous man in the dark suit. Gail barked out a raspy command..Sweetie!! Shut the hell up!!!! “Sweetie” was never heard from again.

When we finally found a place to sit around an antique table piled high with what appeared to be every piece of junk mail she had received over the past ten years, she slapped her dead husband’s policy down in front of me. I suppose you expected me to be dressed in black, since my husband died. Well maybe I should be, but I look like a God***** old woman in black. Besides, Ed loved these pants.

As I processed the paperwork, she told me her life story. With her husband’s death, she was now completely alone. She had no surviving family, neither did he. They had no children. There was literally no family left, no uncles or aunts, no distant cousins. What she did have was tons of friends and the ugliest Pekingese in the entire world. She grew up as an Army brat, lived all over the world. Her husband was a lawyer. She was once a great singer and dancer and had the photographs to prove it. I looked at the young girl in the pictures. She was a beauty. The more we talked, the less uncomfortable I felt. The stories she told were fascinating. What a life she had lived. In the couple of hours I spent with her that first day I discovered a complex woman with an astounding back story. I wasn’t quite sure how much of it was true, but if she was making it up, well...she was one heck of a storyteller. Her sentences were lively and flowed naturally, as if they had been written in advance, and carefully crafted. All of it was sprinkled with the most hilariously colorful profanity I have ever heard from another human being. Must have been the Army background.

She ended up investing the proceeds of her husband’s insurance policy with me. In the months and years that followed, she entrusted more and more of her money with me. In all of our 22 year business relationship, she has never made the trip north to my office. I have always made the drive to Hopewell, probably over 50 times by now. Over the years we have talked about everything. She wanted to know all about Pam and the kids, was fascinated with my parent’s story. She was astonished to discover that I was a Christian. She had a million questions, including this one...Ok, Mister Christian...what’s your favorite verse in the Bible? I answered with Deuteronomy 8:17-18...You may say to yourself, my power and the strength of my hands have produced this wealth for me, but remember the Lord your God who gives you the power to produce wealth... Tears came to her eyes. Then she dismissed me with a colorful phrase. The next time I saw her, she met me at the door with a beautiful, professionally framed, hand stitched rendition of...Deuteronomy 8:17-18. 

Last week I received a call from the lawyer who has her Power of Attorney informing me that she had been placed in a nursing home after being found unresponsive in her home by a friend. Yesterday I went to see her. She lay there in a crumpled pile of covers, face twisted upwards, mouth ajar, her vibrant personality obscured by the ravages of time. I held her hand and looked closely into her face, and called to her. She opened her eyes and mumbled something I couldn’t understand. Her friend interpreted...She said Dunnevant. She knows its you. Then she drifted back off to sleep, or whatever state she was in before, something that looked and felt more painful and disturbing than...sleep. The doctors say she wont be going home again. She might not make it much longer, or she may hang on for months.

I’ve been around in my business long enough to know the rules of life. Clients get old and die. All the money eventually passes to others, in Gail’s case to seven environmental advocacy groups. It’s all part of the job. But every client is not like Gail. I will miss her friendship, her wit and wisdom, and yes...the side-splitting profanity. 

About ten years ago she asked me out of the blue...If I were going to read just one book in this Bible of yours, what should it be? I thought for a moment and answered...If I were you, I would read the Gospel of John. She nodded and said...Well, Doug...you ain’t me, but I will read the Gospel of John, just for you. Six months later we met again for a review. In the middle of my presentation to her, she slammed her hand down on the table and said, By the way...I just finished up the Gospel of John and I’ve got to admit...Jesus was a bad-ass!! I busted up laughing and we ended up talking for over an hour about her thoughts on the subject. For what its worth, I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone who understood who Jesus was and what his message was more beautifully than my strange, and profane friend.

It takes all kinds of people to make a world...