My dad has been wanting to move for several years, but especially since my mom left us in 2008.
At first, he thought it would be a great idea to move to the suburbs. I vetoed that idea. When my mom was sick, I spent far too much time traversing the city to get to their house, and they only lived 15 minutes away. I needed him closer to me, because none of us are getting any younger. Even though he’s the most active octogenarian I know, we should still err on the side of caution.
Then, he thought maybe a fixer upper. I had to laugh at that prospect. Here’s a man who starts off changing a light bulb and ends up needing an electrician.
I had to take matters into my own hands. (Something that’s coming back to bite me square in the ass.)
So . . . a year ago, I located a fantastic condo and it’s right across the street from my house. Even better that I know this building very well. I watched its construction back in 2006, at the top of the market. I know the couple that owned it, and felt sad when they moved to TX, and sadder still when I heard the remote news that they were divorcing. It was bittersweet that they were underwater on the mortgage, as were most people who built/bought at the top of the market, because that perfect storm created the opportunity for us to snap it up at a great deal and significant discount from the original asking price.
It’s a pretty large space — 3 bed, 3 bath duplex — obviously more than he needs, but I would rather he have the space and not need it over needing it and not having it.
We put in the offer in April of 2011. We waited. And waited. And waited. I made a few hostile calls to the seller’s broker, who kept blaming it on the bank. I was convinced that good old Bank of America was stringing us along, hoping that we would rescind our offer which had been accepted by the seller, but was still significantly below the asking price.
FINALLY, 10 months later, we received word that we would be closing on the condo in a hurry. They waited so long that we were trying to beat the clock before the property went up for judicial auction — which nobody wants.
Where we sit now is that we own the unit, and my father is preparing to move.
What have I done?
First, my father has at least two dumpsters full of shit that needs to be thrown away. And who is going to execute that nasty task? Not the 86 year old (who thinks he can lift furniture). Nope. That job falls into my hands.
And who is going to organize the place? Not the man who was yelled at for years by my mother to pick up his socks. Not the man who has a penchant for collecting newspapers from the past month. Nope. Again . . . my job!
And WHO is responsible for all of his moving administration, such as the vetting and hiring of movers, change of address cards, switching the utilities, etc.? Him? NOPE! Once again . . . all me, all the time.
He moves on August 15th. I wonder if we can sell the place back before then.