I have a connection to England that goes beyond geographic boundries, language and culture. It lives deep in my soul, as if I have a history there, and for some reason the universe, responding in some cosmic way, keeps populating my world with people from London and all the surrounding areas.
A number of years ago, a charming young man called me, looking for a home in Merrick. His family would be moving over from England for a job relocation, with him doing all the initial legwork. We clicked from the first chat, setting up an appointment a few weeks out, when he would be in New York. From the moment I picked him up at the railroad station, our conversation was easy and animated. "Edward" picked my brain about the area, schools, activities for his three young children and before I knew it, a full day had gone by and we'd seen some nice properties.
His price range was good, opening up a lot of possibilities, but having been around this block a time or two, I knew we had to get his wife, "Ellen" in to see if his vision matched hers. She was as much of a delight as was he, and the time spent finding them the perfect home, was more pleasurable than I had any right to expect.
The place they ultimately settled on, excited them on so many levels, with elements that reminded them of home. The problem was, it wouldn't be available in time for their move. Fortunately, I was able to get them a temporary rental right next door to my house, and just a short distance from the one they were buying.
Life, being what it is, sometimes throws us a curve ball. Sadly, one day I got a call from a friend, telling me he had tragically died in a freak accident somewhere on the west coast. The news hit me square in the gut, breaking my heart for them all, for wonderful, caring "Edward," for his adoring wife "Ellen" and for their sweet, innocent children. God bless them all. The memory of him will travel with me all the days of my life.
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