Who said buying a house was simple? Anyone? Anyone at all? No? I thought not, and I can assure you, those words, in that order, will NEVER pass through my lips. EVER!
A simple miscommunication started this whole thing off on the wrong foot. Well, that and the fact that my stupid tablet wouldn’t allow me to transfer much-needed documents to the bank’s website for uploading to the loan gods. So, everything had to go via email, and for the most part, email is pretty damn quick, unless the recipient is busy with other things (imagine, someone busy doing things that AREN’T my loan application) then email can be slower than hell.
But, the miscommunication was odd. I had mentioned the phrase “closing date” several times in various emails during the process, yet it wasn’t until we were 10 days away from said “closing date” and I asked (at the firm behest of my realtor) how things were going because we were getting close.
It was at that point the lender said, “What? You signed a contract? You have a closing date? I need that paperwork now!”
Oh, that was fun.
Toss in the old, “we don’t lend unless you’re going to live there full time” bit, so I had to explain that my parents would be living there full time and paying part of the mortgage. THEN I was told it would be better if they were included in the whole deal, so we had to pretty much start over with their stuff, and since they don’t have a computer, it got even more complicated. I won’t tell you what happened when I mentioned the shop. Gawd…
Sprinkle in the suspected early stages of dementia for my mom, a trip to the hospital for my father, and a host of other memorable disasters, and that pretty much sums up my summer so far.
And, as of today’s date, we STILL haven’t closed. Have I mentioned I signed the original contract in May, and our closing date was supposed to be July 1st? It’s August and we’re “going to be cutting it close” to the extended closing date of August 10th. “Cutting it close” were the exact words the loan processor used.
No shit. I'm not sure, but that just might mean we have the loan. Of course, nothing is certain until we sign the papers, and that hasn't even been arranged yet, so who knows? It could all fall to pieces at the very last second. I love having that hanging over my head.
But one of the most stressful aspects of this ordeal is the houses in which we currently reside. See, the house in which my parents are living is one my grandfather built. The property holds many of my childhood memories, as well as those of my children. It is near and dear to our hearts, but there is no way we can manage the property from 400 miles away. Then my mother got a phone call from a friend who said there is someone interested in the property, if they’re interested in selling…
In a way, it’s an answer we need, and a way to move forward, but my mother is a packrat/hoarder and there is a LOT of stuff that needs to be sifted through and dealt with. I’m a little overwhelmed at the thought of it. But I will miss that place; that land of spring breaks, summer vacations, and the wonder of watching my children experience rural living for a few weeks every year. Feeding chickens, geese, turkeys, goats, tending the garden… All the things I got to do with my grandfather, they got to do with their grandmother. My father is, and always will be a city boy, but he showed them the joys of “fixing” stuff.
Then there’s my home. I’ve lived there, off and on (more on than off), for my entire life. My parents brought me to that house when I was six months old. I raised my children there from early grade school to graduation. Talk about memories.
But I must sell it and my heart aches. That house has sheltered me and kept me safe for many years. It has watched over my family and my pets since before I could remember. If someone were to dig up the back yard, they would find many skeletons of dearly beloved pets that were killed on the busy street, because back then, there were NO indoor cats, and every dog I’ve ever owned there has figured out how to get out of the back yard and many of them died tragically.
Some memories are not sweet.
As hard as it was, I finally came to the realization that I do love that house, but there is no way I can manage the upkeep by myself. The yard is large and complicated, the house is in need of repair, and I don’t have the money right now to do it. Unless I win the lottery, that money will not be in my bank account any time soon.
So in the name of moving forward in my life and letting go of the past, I’m selling my childhood home. I’m not selling the memories, just the house in which they live.
I can almost write that without crying. Almost.
I know it’s for the best, and to be honest, when the house sells, the debts to the shop will be cleared, and we can even boost the account and upgrade some fixtures, increase inventory, and expand our online sales. Be successful.
It is all good, and positive, and for the best, and, and, and… the ache in my heart for the home I love is deep and painful. What I want is for someone to buy it and love it, and fix it up and make it beautiful and love it as much as I do.
It deserves that much for all it has done for me over the years.