Getting Too Real

GETTING TOO REAL
by : Matthew Terry

My mom passed away six weeks ago. That part has always been real. I believe that that has actually happened. Don't get me wrong, I've said the words "I can't believe she's gone." , but that's just what people say. She's gone, I know that.

The furniture that I grew up with is gone. I know that that is true. My brother and I split everything relatively easily. We had the "You want this?"/"You want that." conversation. We're lucky we get along on a good level, otherwise this could be harder than it already has been. The dining set, the hope chest, the credenza, the wall unit and such have been there for as long as I can remember. The house around it changed, but they were always there. It sounds silly, I'm sure, but seeing those things go was a little tough. But, neither of us had any need or room for any of it, so it needed to be done.

We're driving my mom's car. I know that it's my name on the owndership. I know that it's my garage that it's sitting inside of. I know that it was me that put the money into the safety and car bombing (yes, I wrote car bombing) of the car (Mom was a heavy smoker so they needed to "bomb" the car.) But when I drive it, and when my wife drives it too, I'm sure, it's my mom's car. I know it's legally and literally not her car anymore, but it's my mother's car.

The house has made it too real. Up to this point it has been "What do we ask for it?", "What's out bottom line price?", "Should we pay someone to take over forty years of cigarette smoke out of the house?" Which we did. We didn't need to bomb the house, but it may have been a realistic option. All easy stuff. Things that I had very little trouble analyzing and deciding. Now, there has been interest in the house. Now, someone wants answers about how old the roof is, things about the furnace, the age of the hot water heater. Someone wants my childhood home. The last bastion of my childhood in Osgoode, Ontario is close to no longer being in the Terry family.

I want to keep my childhood home. I have all along. I can't. Financially, I think I could manage it. Geographically, not so much. I live in Welland. My wife is born, bred and apparently rooted in Welland. I can't live in Osgoode and I can't afford to move the house here. This may sound grandious, but it's reality inside my head. I'm trying to think of options that allow me to keep the house. I know I won't keep the house. It's better if I don't keep the house. It's better if I let the house go. It's better if someone takes the baton from here.

I told my brother I would much rather a young couple starting out would be my prefered choice for a buyer, rather than someone who simply wants to flip the house and make a dime off of it.

Fingers crossed.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.