Amy the Mom

Scenes from a cemetery

Lakewood Cemetery, Minneapolis

September 11th

As if September 11th wasn't already associated with enormous grief, this past week I suffered a personal loss that leaves me-and hundreds of others-heartbroken. 

For the last four years, I've worked for a large real estate company.  My job is to recruit agents into the firm.  When I took on the position, it was with a significant amount of reluctance and trepidation.  I had been self employed the previous six years-as a real estate agent-and enjoyed being my own boss.  I wasn't sure that I could work for someone else again and be happy.  I was courted heavily for the job, and only because of the persistence of the company's two owners did I even seriously consider accepting the challenge.

At one point, I turned down the offer, confident that I should stay the course in real estate sales.  After telling Steve about my decision to decline the position, my then fiance asked me to reconsider.  He felt that because of his own self employment, one of us needed to have more stable hours and to be at home for the children at a reasonable time each day.  He reminded me that I often had to leave in the middle of dinner to show houses, and weekends were often spent with out of town buyers who demanded (and deserved) most of my time.  I immediately realized that I'd been foolish to turn down the offer, so I picked up my cell phone and called Bill, one of the two owners of the company, to ask if he'd filled the position and if we could reconsider my placement.  This was on a Sunday afternoon.  Bill called me back within an hour to tell me that no one else was even being considered-he was thrilled at my change of heart.  To this day, whenever Steve and I have a disagreement, he'll remind me, "Who was it that told you to take the job at RE/MAX?" And he automatically wins the argument.

It wasn't long before I fell in love with the job.  It wasn't just the job-it was the company and the people there, but mostly Bill and John, the two men who started the brokerage and still owned it exclusively twenty years later.  I've never been micromanaged, my bosses have always trusted me to handle my responsibilities and have been my biggest champions. Part of my recruiting pitch to every potential candidate is that I love my company, mostly because of my two bosses.  I brag that I would walk through fire for either of them, they've inspired that much loyalty in me.  While I'm paid to say wonderful things about my company, the words are heartfelt and honest.  I pinch myself because I feel so lucky to go to work each day at a job I enjoy and love so much.  John and Bill's business partnership of more than twenty-two years is an eternity and an anomaly in the real estate industry.

Of my two bosses, it is Bill that I've been the closest to the last four years, but only because my office was in the area under his primary supervision and we have worked together most often.  He and I enjoyed an easy banter early on, and he was generous with praise.  John is a more cantankerous personality, but has a wit that I adore, his caustic but honest observations often leave me laughing to the point of tears.    

Last December,  Bill became gravely ill.  Unknown to me, he had battled cancer for the last eleven years-first colon, then liver.   He never complained about his ailments, he would show up for work hours after undergoing procedures that would take most people out for a week.  His phone was always turned on and available to the sales associates that worked for him.  Bill hadn't come to the office with any regularity over the last eight months, he battled crippling pain and was forced to take painkillers that left him confused and cloudy.  His condition gradually deteriorated, I'm sure in part because he was no longer working the ten plus hour days that provided him a raison d'etre, and in the last month he became too weak to tolerate the procedures that drained the toxins in his liver that jaundiced his skin and eyes and left his brain incoherent.      

I could share dozens of stories that would mean little to anyone outside of our company-they are industry specific inside jokes and anecdotes about Bill's foibles and eccentricities that endeared him to those who loved him.  I will tell you this-Bill was the epitome of class and grace.  He was kind to service people, and he recognized the smallest of gestures.  Bill had hundreds of employees and Realtors that worked in his offices, and even though he knew many of us well, just about all of us were "Kiddo".  He never wanted to call anyone the wrong name, so the ubiquitous moniker was used on everyone.   Earlier this summer, I made a cheesecake for Bill, and delivered it to his home on an afternoon that he and I shared lunch.  I weep that I wasn't able to save the three minute message he left on my cell phone extolling the virtues of that cake and the care and attention that went into it's creation.   

He and I shared a love for reading articles and books on our trade, and would share opinions and reviews of media consumed.  Often, I'd find a book on my desk that Bill knew I would enjoy reading.  Bill was meticulous in his appearance, he loved shopping for clothes and cars, and always wore the finest timepieces and wrote with nothing less prestigious than a Mont Blanc pen.  It should be noted though, that he never displayed even a trace of snobbery.  He was ever the diplomat, waiting until a particularly crazed person would pull away in their car before he would put his hand to his temple, look at me and ask, "What the fuck was THAT?"

Bill and I both had insomniac tendencies, and our phone conversations at one in the morning became a running joke between the two of us.  It started accidentally, Bill didn't realize that I forwarded my desk phone to my cell phone when I'm not in my office.  At 1:00 AM one night, my phone rang and I answered it because Drew was out with friends.  I was convinced it was bad news.  Instead, Bill was on the other end, mortified that he'd reached a live person-"Kiddo, please tell me this is your voicemail."  I laughed, and assured him I was awake and waiting for a teenager to return home.  We talked about a team we were in the process of recruiting in between Bill's apologies for the unforgivable breach of etiquette.

Last week, Bill's wife opened their home to anyone who wished to say their final goodbyes to Bill, even though he was unresponsive.  So many people who loved him came and sat by his bedside, praying silently, carrying on one sided dialogs, or just caressing his frail hand.  I whispered to him my thanks for everything he had done for me, and my regret at not telling him in person.  But Bill never wanted to indulge in those maudlin conversations, it would have meant he was accepting defeat at the hand of cancer, and I am sure he outlived all expectations because he never stopped believing that he would prevail.  Still, I know he would have been humbled by the outpouring of love that we witnessed in the last week of his life.  I'm so grateful to his wife for sacrificing her privacy and permitting so many people to share the final intimate moments of this incredible man's life.

Four years ago, Steve and I had been together for just a year.  I was still clinging to insecurities that had festered in the years following my difficult divorce.  Somehow, Steve and then Bill and John saw potential and promise beneath my self deprecating exterior.  My life has improved exponentially since my husband and these two men entered my life.  I'm no longer the scared and insecure young woman that I once was, I've blossomed into the woman I always wanted to be and I owe a debt of gratitude to these gentlemen who believed in me, supported me and bolstered me.   

Bill Saunders, September 11th, 2008. 

(For those of you knew Bill, you will laugh to know that Bill's true age was a guarded secret.)