Remembering everyday heroes

Just about a year ago, my Orcas Island hero, Pat Pomeroy, died.
Pat was the broker-owner of Coldwell Banker Orcas Island and many island realtors learned the trade at her offices. She was also the wife of Wes Pomeroy, former teacher, and the mother, grandmother and friend to so many of us.
I worked for Pat for five years, mostly setting up the office website and managing internet communications, including the electronic multiple listing service.
I want to share some of the personal memories that I cherish as I remember Pat.
When I presented a letter to one of our vendors for Pat to review, she asked me, “What are you trying to accomplish here?” Her gentle, to-the-point question made me examine not just what I wanted to say, but how to say it in a way that would make the recipient more receptive — very helpful in refining communication.
Pat never asked someone to do something that she wasn’t willing to do herself. When our water usage seemed high, Pat would go out to the sidewalk every day and hunker down to read and record the water meter.
Every Saturday in the summer, she would go to the Farmers’ Market and bring a bouquet of fresh flowers back to the office for us to enjoy all week.
She was a great team player, often referring us to each other to provide assistance in our fields of expertise. She held weekly office meetings to keep us updated and connected with each other.
But I think one memory brings together so many of the aspects of this beautiful person:
Pat loved the arts, especially music and dance. She and Wes had season tickets to the Seattle Ballet, and I think the opera too. Pat didn’t have an extensive wardrobe, but her blue wool jacket and black full-length coat always made her look quietly elegant. Just before I became editor of the Sounder, I had a “girls’ night out” trip to Seattle with my sister and nieces, and bought a full-length black coat. That coat reminded me of Pat and the business-like way she “cycled” through Eastsound as she went about her work.
(There’s a point to this digression.)
In the late spring of 2006, Pat had tickets to the opera that she and Wes couldn’t use. She offered them to me and I gladly accepted. When I went to their home to pick up the tickets on a hot spring night, Pat got up from the dinner that she always cooked for Wes, and greeted me at the door, wearing pink bermuda shorts and a T-shirt decorated with the names of all her grandkids. While she was proud of her position in the San Juan County business community, Pat’s warmth and practicality always shone through her professional demeanor. Pat really knew how to live, and had her priorities straight.
When Pat died, I found slight comfort knowing that the world was a better place for her having lived in it, because I knew that, without her in it, my world had suffered a huge loss.