To be fair, I don’t rub elbows with too many rich folks. I know lots of people who live a good life, who have the things they want while living a comfortable life, but I don’t know many people who I would consider to be rich.
Since leaving corporate America to get into real estate and loan signing, I’ve had the opportunity to meet and (briefly) get to know a few folks who I would consider to be rich.
I’ve visited million dollar homes and completed documents for people buying or selling million dollar properties. I’ve met owners of corporations and other folks who certainly live “the good life”.
I’ve gone to closings and parked my crappy little Jeep next to Porsche’s and Ferrari’s and Corvette’s.
Most of the people I’ve met at those places have seemed nice. They are usually friendly and interesting to talk with and I’ve had some very interesting conversations with a few folks nice enough to engage with me.
Sometimes I leave those appointments envious, or even speechless. For someone struggling to grow a business after a lifetime in corporate America, such wealth is hard to fathom.
But a couple weeks ago, on a random sunny Friday afternoon I met the richest guy I’ve ever met.
He and his wife live in a very modest home in a nice suburban neighborhood, they had a regular Toyota sedan sitting in the driveway.
No fleet of super cars, no groundkeepers, no pictures of their personal jet or yacht.
When I met these folks, it was to have them sign a few simple sale documents related to the sale of their home in another state. Upon entering their home, the wife greeted me and said “we need to conduct the signing in the bedroom, my husband has terminal cancer”.
Quite caught off guard, she ushered me into the back bedroom where her husband was propped up in bed watching TV.
He was very friendly and warm and although his body was apparently failing him, his mind was obviously sharp. We chatted a little, he reviewed the documents and asked a few questions.
So why was this the richest man I’ve ever met? He had terminal cancer. By modern standards, he was too young to die, and I’m guessing his impending death was not going to be pleasant.
He was living his final days in a very modest home, apparently confined to a smallish room with a TV.
While he was reviewing the documents and signing each one, I noticed his wife out of the corner of my eye.
At one point she started rubbing his feet, gently massaging the tops of them (apparently he was having issues with his legs).
A couple times she walked over near his head and they would review something together, then she would return to the foot of the bed where she would again touch his feet.
The feeling of love in the room was overwhelming. The way she looked at him. The way she lovingly caressed his feet. The gentle way she spoke to him
Whatever he did during his years with his wife to earn that kind of love must have been something special.
To be loved by someone with such care, such intensity, and such devotion. That’s why he’s the richest person I’ve ever met.
I don’t know if he owned a jet or a huge house. I don’t know the size of his bank account.
But I do know that in the days leading to his death, someone is there loving him with all her heart.
He is the richest man I’ve ever met, and I’m forever grateful to have witnessed the purest form of love imaginable.
We should all be so lucky as to be loved like that.
