"When do you think we can close?" — The Question That Stopped Being About a House

Living Elevated Series · Article 1 of 8

One Friday afternoon, I was handling the closing of another transaction when my phone rang. It was María’s husband. I knew her health had been fragile, so I picked up.

His question was the most ordinary question in any real estate transaction:

“When do you think we can close?”

I told him we probably had a few weeks to go. A few loose ends, like almost every deal. Nothing unusual.

Then he said something that changed the conversation forever:

“I don’t think she’s going to make it that far.”

In a matter of seconds, we stopped talking about a closing date. We started talking about how much time a person had left.

But to understand what that call meant, I need to tell you who María was.

Ten Years of Conversations

I met María about ten years ago, through a referral from a client I trust. She arrived with her partner and one very clear dream: to buy a multifamily property here in Rhode Island.

I remember that mix of emotions so many first-time buyers carry. She was excited. She was determined. And she was nervous, because the whole process was new to her. We toured several properties until we found one that made sense — renovated, practically move-in ready, exactly the kind of opportunity she was looking for. We closed.

And here is where this story parts ways with most real estate stories: our relationship did not end at the closing table.

Over the next ten years we kept talking. She would call to ask how the market was doing, where rents were heading, what was happening with regulations, what opportunities were out there, what she could do with her property. But we also talked about life.

Somewhere along the way we stopped talking like an agent and a client. We ended up talking like old friends.

“If it can be done, we’ll find a way”

If I had to sum María up in one sentence, that would be it. She did not take no for an answer easily. Whenever something stood in her way, her mindset was always the same: if it can be done, we’ll find a way.

That is how she bought her property. That is how she kept it. That is how she solved every problem the road put in front of her for a decade.

And some time ago, that same spirit brought her back to my phone with a new dream: she wanted to buy a house closer to her family. We started exploring it. We talked financing, rates, prices, options. Some days we moved forward. Other days she would tell me, “let’s wait.”

We talked about the future. Always the future.

The way we all do.

When the Plan Changed

Over time, her health grew more complicated. And the conversation changed shape, almost without us noticing. What began as “buying a house closer to family” slowly became “getting the sale of the property you already own done right.”

We talked about the market, the tenants, the process. Eventually we listed the property, a buyer came along, and it went under contract. All the while, María kept fighting. And she kept hoping.

At some point along that road, I had suggested she talk to a lawyer about a contingency plan — what should be organized in case a day came when she could not make her own decisions. And I understand completely what it feels like to hear that when you are fighting to get better. You think: “That is not going to happen to me. I am going to pull through.”

There is nothing wrong with thinking that way. It is the most human thing there is. We all live believing there is time — to organize the paperwork, to make the calls, to have certain conversations.

Almost always, there is.
Until life changes the calendar.

From Weeks to Hours

Back to that Friday call.

When María’s husband told me what he told me, my first reaction was to plant my feet and ask one question: okay — what do we need to do right now? I asked what planning existed, whether they had spoken with a lawyer, what documents were in place. He was not sure.

That is when the race against time began.

My role was not to give legal advice. My role was to recognize there was a problem, communicate the urgency, and connect the family — that same afternoon — with the professionals who could determine what needed to be done.

The attorneys moved fast. They had to confirm María could still understand and sign whatever was necessary. Everything that had to be coordinated between the family and the professionals happened in a matter of hours. At one point, a document that had already been prepared had to be corrected and signed again that same night.

What normally gets organized over calm weeks was resolved in a single afternoon and a single night. That night, everything the attorneys determined could and should be signed was completed.

And I went to bed thinking about something that had nothing to do with the transaction.

Something Told Me to Go See Her

The next day I had an open house. When it ended, my plan was to head home to my wife and get on with our day. But something inside me kept saying: go visit María.

I went.

On the way, I bought flowers. I included white roses. Some part of me was still holding on to hope.

When I arrived, María was resting under her medications. We could not talk anymore. But something happened that turned out to matter far more than I expected: I stayed with her family for almost two hours.

And we talked about her.

We did not talk about contracts.
We did not talk about buyers.
We did not talk about the closing.
We talked about María.

About who she was. About her character. About how strong she had been her whole life. About how she was — in her family’s exact words — a force of nature. About how she always found a way through. About how she was, in every way that matters, the center of her family.

I listened to stories from different chapters of her life. Some made me laugh. All of them showed me who she really was.

And sitting there, I understood again something that is easy to forget in this business: behind every property there is a person, a family, and a whole story that we, the professionals, only ever get to know in part.

I said my goodbyes and went home.

The Sunday Call

The next day, around noon, my phone rang again. It was her husband.

María had passed away.

Only hours had gone by since I sat with her family, listening to the stories of her life. And only a couple of days since that question:

“When do you think we can close?”

It Was Never About the Closing

I have thought about that week a lot. It started with a question about a closing date. It ended up teaching me that the story was never really about the closing.

It was about time.
It was about a family.
It was about a woman who, to the very end, lived convinced that if something can be done, you find a way.

I am still processing everything that experience left me with. Some of those reflections I will be sharing in the next installments of this series, because I believe they can help other families. For now, I just want to leave you with this:

We talk about the future all the time. Plans, properties, decisions, whatever comes next. And that is good — that is how a life gets built.

But if this story made you think of a conversation you have been putting off, maybe this is a good moment to start it. With your family. And with the right professionals.

Not because something bad is about to happen.

But because the people we love deserve that peace of mind.

This story is inspired by real events. Names and certain details have been changed to protect the family’s privacy, with all my affection and respect. Nothing in this article is legal or financial advice; every situation is different, and laws vary by state. If your family is going through something similar, the best first step is a conversation with a qualified attorney in your jurisdiction.