One Last Cry*

I thought once the Dissolution Agreement was signed, letting go of the LLC, I would feel this joyous burst of gratitude. And though I was momentarily relieved Mr. Partner signed the Agreement, it wasn't anything like the cathartic experience I was expecting. In truth, I equate the entire process to a loved one dying a slow death. There is no true release when they pass. You have been expecting it. It is now a new normal part of your normal.

Right after my last trip to Alabama in March of 2015, I stopped stressing about Alabama. I saw my favorite home completely trashed and the dream died. There was no stopping the financial storm that was heading our way. Coupled with the idiots at the bank who called our second loan due and refused to work with us, we were out of options. The tears dried up right about then.

So, dissolving the LLC wasn't terribly emotional. I was anxious to be done, in the way a young child is anxious for Christmas. I was anxious for Mr. Partner to sign the Dissolution Agreement. That was my trigger that would signify it was over. I wanted it to be over. Though there is a transition plan in place, most of it is administrative work and I will say no to anything I don't want to do if Mr. Partner asks. I am ok with that. I will sleep at night with this decision. My help will be willingly or not at all. I am not obligated. Mr. Partner is treading lightly because he knows this too.

As part of the transition plan, I needed to tell the tenants who are not in property management Mr. Partner was taking over and he was the new landlord. The letters took three minutes to compose. As I started addressing the letter to Ms. Angie, I thought about how cold my words felt. After all, a typed letter from someone you consider a friend for the past nine years seemed heartless. Even after I signed it and shoved it in the envelope, it didn't sit right with me.

Then, I addressed Mrs. Sherwood's envelope. Mrs. Sherwood is by far the best tenant anyone could ever ask for. Plus, I really like her. Staring at her letter for some time, I picked up my pen and added a few choice sentiments. I told her how much I had enjoyed getting to know her. How she truly was the best tenant I ever had. I thanked her for our countless conversations. And, hopefully I didn't overstep, I invited her to keep in touch.

Then, I tore open Ms. Angie's envelope and wrote a few words too. It was as I was writing to Ms. Angie, mentioning her beautiful family and grandchildren, that I lost it. The dam burst. I had to reprint Ms. Angie's letter because by then it was soggy and the ink was smudged from my tears. I was going to miss Ms. Angie so much. This woman has worked herself to to the bone make sure her kids weren't street thugs. She dedicated herself to her children, dedicated her time to make sure she had a home for them. I have the utmost respect for her. And I doubt I said so the way I wanted to in my letter.

I told Bliz later how writing the tenant letters got to me. I wasn't expecting the burst of emotion. She replied, "It's because you care." And that's the truth. It has never been about the homes. It has been about the people I have met along the way.


*And speaking of the people I have met along the way, I was introduced to Brian McNight's "One Last Cry" by a former tenant and friend of McKnight's (they knew each other in Muscle Shoals, the music capital of Alabama). I heard if for the first time one day in 2006 when this tenant sent it to me.