Photo courtesy of Suzette Benjamin
The house is empty now.
It was a good house, built in 1939 and occupied by only one family before Bertha and George moved in. It wasn’t Bertha’s and George’s first home as man and wife – they had raised their children in another town but found it necessary to relocate when that neighborhood became unsafe for older folks.
So, close to retirement age, Bertha and George found themselves the proud owners of a brand new mortgage, as well as a number of home improvement loans that were needed to bring the “new” house into the current century.
But it was a good, safe neighborhood and they had wonderful families living on all sides of them. It was a joy to return from work each day to such peaceful surroundings.
Finances had always been tough but they made it work. Bertha handled most of the bills and became an expert at budgeting; she and George even managed to pay off the home improvement loans and build up some savings over the next few years. So, when Bertha’s failing health ultimately forced her to retire and rely on only Social Security (none of their employers had ever offered 401-Ks or other retirement programs), she knew they would be able to survive. And when George retired a couple of years after that, they were still able to scrape by.
When the country’s leadership changed and every single expense increased, the couple considered moving into an apartment. In addition to the strain on their budget, they had found it more difficult to keep the lawn mowed and the snow removed, and hiring outside help was not within their means. However, due to inflation and a severe shortage of available housing, apartment rents had risen to the point that the only places Bertha and George could afford would be in areas worse than the one they had moved from.
The decision was made to age in place.
The budget became tighter and tighter, but somehow they held on. They were still able to scrape together the money for basic necessities, and life was good. Even when the government, in its wisdom, reduced their Social Security benefits by 30%, Bertha and George managed by dipping into the savings they had worked so hard to accumulate.
But then George had a stroke and died. Without George’s Social Security, Bertha was in dire straits and she was unwilling to seek help from her children or other family members. After all, they had young families of their own and certainly didn’t need to start supporting Bertha.
Continuing to deplete George’s and her accumulated savings, Bertha was able to slide through for several more years. She did, in fact, have to hire outside help for house and yard maintenance, but even so she figured she could make the money last a number of years more. After all, did she really need more than one meal a day?
Eventually, however, the money ran out. Bertha could no longer make the mortgage payments. One day she received a certified mail letter from her lender notifying her that foreclosure proceedings would soon be started. Still, she refused to ask her family for help.
What to do?
Bertha checked into income-based senior housing units but learned there was a multi-year waiting list for those apartments. She optimistically sent in an application anyway.
At least there was a food pantry within walking distance, so she was in no danger of starvation.
Knowing she would soon be forced to move somewhere, she began to clear the house out. Until then she had avoided going through George’s things, but now it became essential.
And that’s when she found George’s gun.
She had forgotten they even had a gun as she never felt unsafe in this “new” neighborhood.
Suddenly, Bertha realized she had a way out of her situation. She didn’t actually have to move anywhere; she didn’t have to beg her kids for money; she didn’t have to struggle each and every day just to make it through the next 24 hours; she didn’t have to wait 4 or more years for an apartment she could afford.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she made the decision.
The house sits empty now.
The foreclosure took longer than usual because the lender had to sue an estate instead of an individual, and probate proceedings don’t progress quickly. Once the lender became the owner of the foreclosed property, they were unable to sell it because of the sad vibes it contained and which many potential buyers could feel. It didn’t help that once having foreclosed, the lender shut off the utilities and did no maintenance or upkeep other than mowing the lawn occasionally and keeping the sidewalks and driveway cleared of snow. It also didn’t help that the lender insisted the asking price be kept at the outstanding balance Bertha had owed on the mortgage at the time of her death.
The house fell into neglect and became the neighborhood eyesore. No one wanted to live in it, no developers wanted to sink money into it.
At 100 years of age, the house became as dead as Bertha and George. A sad ending to a sad, but not unusual story.
As has been said many times before: it’s hell to grow old.
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I hope you all enjoyed this fictional story, which has been published in response to Dan Antoin‘s post, Thursday Doors Writing Challenge 2025, using the photo kindly contributed by Suzette Benjamin. Jump on over to Dan’s post to view the other awesome photographs and read the incredible stories and poems based thereon by some of my fellow bloggers.
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