So today is my last day with my dad here. I knew that when I woke up today, I'd have to do some things that I had not been looking forward to. In particular, I'd decided to call Homeward Residential to try and see what the hold up was on the paperwork. I asked my dad to sit with me for a few minutes after we dropped Leah off at school and I called.
I got some smarmy little dude on the phone, and when I explained why I was calling, he was at first a bit solicitous about looking up why the paperwork wasn't accepted. It then devolved into "You didn't put your birthday on the paperwork" and "you didn't list an address" and "your papers did not properly transmit." My father lost it completely and started yelling into the phone such pearls as "If she didn't list an address, how do you know where to send the papers!?"
There was something about the oily tone of this man's voice that just pushed me over the edge. It's been hard to get through the holiday, and we were so busy and I've just been exhausted. All I wanted to hear was "Your paperwork has been accepted. We'll be in touch soon", but instead I got more and more of the runaround.
But the thing is, this website has suddenly become about far more than just "give me money to save my house, please". I have made it a point to email every person who has donated money to us, and I have had some really beautiful email exchanges with people. So far, roughly 160 people have donated over $7,000 to help save our home. And I feel that I owe it to each one of you to give 150% of my time and effort to making this worth it. I feel like I have 160 cheerleaders telling me "Go for it." And so even though I tend to be very laid back and I almost never stand up for myself and have a pathological hatred of talking on the phone, I could literally hear and feel you standing beside me and telling me to do it.
And so I just let the dam break in my head and in my heart, and I put it to this guy hard. As I began to demand some answers about why on earth the process was taking so long and why on Earth the paperwork kept going missing, he began to get a little bit evasive. I pushed him harder and harder and eventually he started screaming, "It's not us, ma'am! It's the government! The government has very specific rules about how the paperwork is to be filled out!!!! It's not us!!! I'm so sorry!" I responded, "Own it, you coward! I understand you're just the guy answering the phone, but you guys aren't making this easy. I have a three year old grieving her dad and you're giving me busy work?!"
I wish I had recorded the conversation, but I was getting so worked up that I was pacing around and around, so you wouldn't have seen much anyway.
Finally I said, "Since your fax machines are clearly unreliable, here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to fax this paperwork yet again, and for a final time. I have all the papers here in front of me. They are filled out in bold, black ink. I am going to fax them, and then I am going to mail them certified mail, return receipt. Give me your address."
Well, he was practically stumbling all over himself to get me the address, which I repeated back to him. I said, "Thank you very much, will you make a note of this on my account? I will call you this week to make sure it was delivered" and was prepared to hang up when he made the grave mistake of saying, "Now, ma'am I must talk to you about your payments being in arrears. You have not made a payment in four months. What do you intend to do about that?"
That is when I really and truly lost it. I said to him, "Do you understand anything I have talked to you about so far?" And he said, "I understand you are going through a hard time. Why are you behind on your payments?" I said, "As I have already explained, my husband has died, I am unemployed, and he did not leave behind any life insurance. Between you and my second mortgage, my payments are $500 more than my monthly survivor benefits on Social Security. There is absolutely no way to make this work."
My heart beat was rapidly accelerating when he threw down the gauntlet.
"Ma'am, I am sorry to hear all of this, but I must tell you that your application to the program is no guarantee that you will be accepted. What do you intend to do? I see here that we have already sent you a notice of intention to foreclose and that we have listed this on your credit score. you need to make a payment and start planning in case the modification doesn't work out."
Challenge accepted.
"I have no money, I cannot pay you. I would love to be able to do so. I do not want to lose my house. I do not want to uproot my 3 year old. Particularly now that you have reported this to the credit bureau, my ability to do so much as rent an apartment is shot to hell. But really, you have me up against a wall here. You want to foreclose, go ahead. You can own this property. I can move in with my father. I will find a place to go and you will be stuck with this place. I am sincerely hopeful that you will cooperate with me, but if you won't, then you leave me no choice but to move out. From what you are telling me, I have absolutely zero incentive to cooperate with you any more in finding a solution to making these payments. Wouldn't you say that is true?"
Well, of course, he couldn't actually admit to the veracity of that statement. He apologized again and again.
"You are going to tell me that Homeward America is in the business of kicking widows and orphans onto the street?"
He apologized over and over.
Finally, I hit mute while he was jabbering and looked at my dad and said, "To tell you the truth, Dad, I kind of feel sorry for this guy." We were both laughing at how the tone of his voice had changed, his position had softened, and he almost did genuinely seem sorry for what was happening.
The phone call ended and that was the end of that. I have never in my life spoken to anyone the way I spoke to that man today. It was empowering and I felt so triumphant, like maybe I could do it again if I needed to.
And so for that, friends and donors, I must thank you. You give me strength and courage to fight another day, to get up and get moving and put my best foot forward because it is an honor and a tribute to all of you who have believed in us and helped us when you did not need to.
Thank you so much, more than words can possibly say,
Susan
I got some smarmy little dude on the phone, and when I explained why I was calling, he was at first a bit solicitous about looking up why the paperwork wasn't accepted. It then devolved into "You didn't put your birthday on the paperwork" and "you didn't list an address" and "your papers did not properly transmit." My father lost it completely and started yelling into the phone such pearls as "If she didn't list an address, how do you know where to send the papers!?"
There was something about the oily tone of this man's voice that just pushed me over the edge. It's been hard to get through the holiday, and we were so busy and I've just been exhausted. All I wanted to hear was "Your paperwork has been accepted. We'll be in touch soon", but instead I got more and more of the runaround.
But the thing is, this website has suddenly become about far more than just "give me money to save my house, please". I have made it a point to email every person who has donated money to us, and I have had some really beautiful email exchanges with people. So far, roughly 160 people have donated over $7,000 to help save our home. And I feel that I owe it to each one of you to give 150% of my time and effort to making this worth it. I feel like I have 160 cheerleaders telling me "Go for it." And so even though I tend to be very laid back and I almost never stand up for myself and have a pathological hatred of talking on the phone, I could literally hear and feel you standing beside me and telling me to do it.
And so I just let the dam break in my head and in my heart, and I put it to this guy hard. As I began to demand some answers about why on earth the process was taking so long and why on Earth the paperwork kept going missing, he began to get a little bit evasive. I pushed him harder and harder and eventually he started screaming, "It's not us, ma'am! It's the government! The government has very specific rules about how the paperwork is to be filled out!!!! It's not us!!! I'm so sorry!" I responded, "Own it, you coward! I understand you're just the guy answering the phone, but you guys aren't making this easy. I have a three year old grieving her dad and you're giving me busy work?!"
I wish I had recorded the conversation, but I was getting so worked up that I was pacing around and around, so you wouldn't have seen much anyway.
Finally I said, "Since your fax machines are clearly unreliable, here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to fax this paperwork yet again, and for a final time. I have all the papers here in front of me. They are filled out in bold, black ink. I am going to fax them, and then I am going to mail them certified mail, return receipt. Give me your address."
Well, he was practically stumbling all over himself to get me the address, which I repeated back to him. I said, "Thank you very much, will you make a note of this on my account? I will call you this week to make sure it was delivered" and was prepared to hang up when he made the grave mistake of saying, "Now, ma'am I must talk to you about your payments being in arrears. You have not made a payment in four months. What do you intend to do about that?"
That is when I really and truly lost it. I said to him, "Do you understand anything I have talked to you about so far?" And he said, "I understand you are going through a hard time. Why are you behind on your payments?" I said, "As I have already explained, my husband has died, I am unemployed, and he did not leave behind any life insurance. Between you and my second mortgage, my payments are $500 more than my monthly survivor benefits on Social Security. There is absolutely no way to make this work."
My heart beat was rapidly accelerating when he threw down the gauntlet.
"Ma'am, I am sorry to hear all of this, but I must tell you that your application to the program is no guarantee that you will be accepted. What do you intend to do? I see here that we have already sent you a notice of intention to foreclose and that we have listed this on your credit score. you need to make a payment and start planning in case the modification doesn't work out."
Challenge accepted.
"I have no money, I cannot pay you. I would love to be able to do so. I do not want to lose my house. I do not want to uproot my 3 year old. Particularly now that you have reported this to the credit bureau, my ability to do so much as rent an apartment is shot to hell. But really, you have me up against a wall here. You want to foreclose, go ahead. You can own this property. I can move in with my father. I will find a place to go and you will be stuck with this place. I am sincerely hopeful that you will cooperate with me, but if you won't, then you leave me no choice but to move out. From what you are telling me, I have absolutely zero incentive to cooperate with you any more in finding a solution to making these payments. Wouldn't you say that is true?"
Well, of course, he couldn't actually admit to the veracity of that statement. He apologized again and again.
"You are going to tell me that Homeward America is in the business of kicking widows and orphans onto the street?"
He apologized over and over.
Finally, I hit mute while he was jabbering and looked at my dad and said, "To tell you the truth, Dad, I kind of feel sorry for this guy." We were both laughing at how the tone of his voice had changed, his position had softened, and he almost did genuinely seem sorry for what was happening.
The phone call ended and that was the end of that. I have never in my life spoken to anyone the way I spoke to that man today. It was empowering and I felt so triumphant, like maybe I could do it again if I needed to.
And so for that, friends and donors, I must thank you. You give me strength and courage to fight another day, to get up and get moving and put my best foot forward because it is an honor and a tribute to all of you who have believed in us and helped us when you did not need to.
Thank you so much, more than words can possibly say,
Susan
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