therealljidol Season 10-week 18: Location Location Location
This is my entry for week 18 of therealljidol We had to choose partners in this week's competition. I had the pleasure of working with alycewilson. It was an honor!
Her entry can be found here
On December 9, 2015 I received the call from the attending physician in the critical care unit of the hospital telling me that my mother had passed away peacefully. I knew this was going to happen and I was as prepared as I could be for the news.
I had made funeral arrangements, booked the restaurant for the gathering after the short service. I was as organized as I could possibly have been.
That task, although sad, was nowhere near as daunting as going through the process of selling the home where my mother had lived most of her life.
If you were to talk to my mother you’d have thought the small cape style house in a lower middle class neighborhood was a castle worthy of Prince William and Princess Kate.
I had tried to convince my mother to sign the house over to me several years before she became ill, in order for her assets to be protected from the claw back from any expenses incurred by the nursing home where she and my stepfather would eventually have to spend the end of their lives. You’d have thought I was asking her to cut off her limbs. Her possessiveness of that house was an obsession and her grasp on anything having to do with it was like a vice.
When it was obvious that neither my mother nor her husband would return to the home I had to convince them both that the house would need to be put on the market. My sister lives across the country, I own my own home, and no one else in the family wanted to buy it or deal with the responsibility of maintaining it as a rental property.
I had to develop thick skin because the insults, accusations of trying to control my mother’s life, and her belief that I just wanted financial gain came fast and furious.
No one wanted the responsibility but everyone had an opinion as to what to do, including what the house should sell for, what should happen to the property, and what realtor to use. Every decision was questioned, analyzed and criticized. But when it came to the actual work, meetings with real estate agents, and cleaning out of the house in order for it to be shown, people became oddly scarce.
My husband had to clean the yard, remove snow, and go through the contents of the house. Once we got into the house we could see the evidence of my mother’s decline. She was always a meticulous housekeeper. She took pride in her home and her possessions. But when we started digging we saw that even though she tried to maintain the illusion that she was fine, it was a façade. There was even more work than we originally thought.
Seeing the condition of her beloved home and dividing up the contents was much more heartbreaking than my mother’s death. This house was her life and her history, more so than mine. I spent twenty years in that house but she spent eighty. The house held some good memories for me but many memories I would put to rest when I locked the door for the last time.
I never met the people who actually bought the property as I turned over the closing to my attorney. I wanted the matter closed and I wanted no connection to the people who would eventually move in. I gained nothing financially, as I had to turn over the money immediately to the nursing home. I have a few pieces of furniture from the house but that was all that was left from my mother’s legacy.
I’m at peace with it all. Once the house was sold I could put everything to rest. It was like a door closed on a chapter of my life that needed to be put in the past. It was a sense of relief that many would not understand. They don’t need to and I don’t need to explain. I can move forward.
It was only a house to me…not a home.
Her entry can be found here
On December 9, 2015 I received the call from the attending physician in the critical care unit of the hospital telling me that my mother had passed away peacefully. I knew this was going to happen and I was as prepared as I could be for the news.
I had made funeral arrangements, booked the restaurant for the gathering after the short service. I was as organized as I could possibly have been.
That task, although sad, was nowhere near as daunting as going through the process of selling the home where my mother had lived most of her life.
If you were to talk to my mother you’d have thought the small cape style house in a lower middle class neighborhood was a castle worthy of Prince William and Princess Kate.
I had tried to convince my mother to sign the house over to me several years before she became ill, in order for her assets to be protected from the claw back from any expenses incurred by the nursing home where she and my stepfather would eventually have to spend the end of their lives. You’d have thought I was asking her to cut off her limbs. Her possessiveness of that house was an obsession and her grasp on anything having to do with it was like a vice.
When it was obvious that neither my mother nor her husband would return to the home I had to convince them both that the house would need to be put on the market. My sister lives across the country, I own my own home, and no one else in the family wanted to buy it or deal with the responsibility of maintaining it as a rental property.
I had to develop thick skin because the insults, accusations of trying to control my mother’s life, and her belief that I just wanted financial gain came fast and furious.
No one wanted the responsibility but everyone had an opinion as to what to do, including what the house should sell for, what should happen to the property, and what realtor to use. Every decision was questioned, analyzed and criticized. But when it came to the actual work, meetings with real estate agents, and cleaning out of the house in order for it to be shown, people became oddly scarce.
My husband had to clean the yard, remove snow, and go through the contents of the house. Once we got into the house we could see the evidence of my mother’s decline. She was always a meticulous housekeeper. She took pride in her home and her possessions. But when we started digging we saw that even though she tried to maintain the illusion that she was fine, it was a façade. There was even more work than we originally thought.
Seeing the condition of her beloved home and dividing up the contents was much more heartbreaking than my mother’s death. This house was her life and her history, more so than mine. I spent twenty years in that house but she spent eighty. The house held some good memories for me but many memories I would put to rest when I locked the door for the last time.
I never met the people who actually bought the property as I turned over the closing to my attorney. I wanted the matter closed and I wanted no connection to the people who would eventually move in. I gained nothing financially, as I had to turn over the money immediately to the nursing home. I have a few pieces of furniture from the house but that was all that was left from my mother’s legacy.
I’m at peace with it all. Once the house was sold I could put everything to rest. It was like a door closed on a chapter of my life that needed to be put in the past. It was a sense of relief that many would not understand. They don’t need to and I don’t need to explain. I can move forward.
It was only a house to me…not a home.