One of those entries
May. 26th, 2006 09:13![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mapsedgeFor this entry, it is useful to know that:
Now, exposition over, we move to the first action sequence.
Back when mom had her stroke and had to move to a nursing home, it became clear early on that, if she lived long enough, she would run out of money and Medicaid would have to kick in. My brothers and sister did the math and worked out that the government would go after the house first, and that the only way to avoid having that happen would be for her to sign a "quit claim" against the property and sign it over to me, pronto.
This was what we'd been encouraging her to do for years, and she would never do it, fearing that if I ever moved and sold the place, the property would no longer be in the family. Faced with the prospect of that happening in actual fact through a government land grab, she agreed finally, reluctantly.
This deal came with a caveat, however. My siblings knew the first thing I would do upon filing the deed with Jackson county would be to get a home equity line of credit so that I could begin making the needed fixes I could never afford before, like upgrading the electrical system beyond blade switches and old jumper cables.
This was the deal: Out of that line of credit, we would purchase a wheelchair van, which would be made available to (almost) everyone who visited mom, to make transporting her out and about a less arduous experience.
Done. We found a Ford Econoline 150 with a Braun lift and hand controls. It was a God-send, even though we didn't have the opportunity to use it much. Under Nebraska law we couldn't leave it in Nebraska unless we could produce proof that someone in the family was an out of state college student. *snort* Uh-huh. As a result, using it made each trip a minor and expensive production. I think I rode in it with Mom fewer than a half-dozen times, from the nursing home to Cracker Barrel in Omaha, to the cemetery in Weeping Water, and back. She was grateful just to get out, it didn't matter where.
Then, she died, and the van became a rather pointless accessory in my stable of vehicles. So, now we have a van for sale.
Still waiting for me to come to the point? Don't worry, dear reader, we're getting there.
We discovered it needed some fixing, got it done by a guy from church who agreed to take deferred payment pending the sale of the van. Now, it has to go to the lift doctor, to have the lift tuned and tightened. That's today. They're up North, closer to my office than to home, so I drove the van to work.
The smell of the thing as I opened the door this morning to leave, thick with that scent that all conversion vans have, mixed with lubricants from the lift, hit me hard. It's a smell I will forever associate with glancing in the rearview mirror to see my mother's face, diminished by infirmity but still a little mischievous, as she rode, the wheelchair trussed at four points to hold it and her in place.
So, I'm a little melancholy this morning, with one more reminder of a reality that still hasn't completely sunk in yet.
I look to the future, though, and my own family. When the van is finally sold, that money will become a new furnace/ac for the house, the final large piece of the Osage puzzle, and in a way, that circle will be complete.
- The house I'm living in is the house I grew up in
- My parents bought it in 1970. After my father died, my mother lived there until 1990-ish, when she got an apartment closer to her job, and left me in charge of the place. In 1992, she remarried and moved "home" to Nebraska. I and, after 1993, my family have been the sole occupants of the house since that time.
- My mother never relinquished ownership of the property, even after years of listening to both me and my siblings telling her to unload it. There is enough of my own money and sweat equity tied up in fixing years of bad remodeling - tied with my desire to own the place - that my siblings encouraged her to sign it over to me, or at least put my name on the deed to avoid probate unpleasantness when she died. She would not budge. I still don't understand why, even though she explained her reasons: they were completely non-sensical. That's a post for another time.
Now, exposition over, we move to the first action sequence.
Back when mom had her stroke and had to move to a nursing home, it became clear early on that, if she lived long enough, she would run out of money and Medicaid would have to kick in. My brothers and sister did the math and worked out that the government would go after the house first, and that the only way to avoid having that happen would be for her to sign a "quit claim" against the property and sign it over to me, pronto.
This was what we'd been encouraging her to do for years, and she would never do it, fearing that if I ever moved and sold the place, the property would no longer be in the family. Faced with the prospect of that happening in actual fact through a government land grab, she agreed finally, reluctantly.
This deal came with a caveat, however. My siblings knew the first thing I would do upon filing the deed with Jackson county would be to get a home equity line of credit so that I could begin making the needed fixes I could never afford before, like upgrading the electrical system beyond blade switches and old jumper cables.
This was the deal: Out of that line of credit, we would purchase a wheelchair van, which would be made available to (almost) everyone who visited mom, to make transporting her out and about a less arduous experience.
Done. We found a Ford Econoline 150 with a Braun lift and hand controls. It was a God-send, even though we didn't have the opportunity to use it much. Under Nebraska law we couldn't leave it in Nebraska unless we could produce proof that someone in the family was an out of state college student. *snort* Uh-huh. As a result, using it made each trip a minor and expensive production. I think I rode in it with Mom fewer than a half-dozen times, from the nursing home to Cracker Barrel in Omaha, to the cemetery in Weeping Water, and back. She was grateful just to get out, it didn't matter where.
Then, she died, and the van became a rather pointless accessory in my stable of vehicles. So, now we have a van for sale.
Still waiting for me to come to the point? Don't worry, dear reader, we're getting there.
We discovered it needed some fixing, got it done by a guy from church who agreed to take deferred payment pending the sale of the van. Now, it has to go to the lift doctor, to have the lift tuned and tightened. That's today. They're up North, closer to my office than to home, so I drove the van to work.
The smell of the thing as I opened the door this morning to leave, thick with that scent that all conversion vans have, mixed with lubricants from the lift, hit me hard. It's a smell I will forever associate with glancing in the rearview mirror to see my mother's face, diminished by infirmity but still a little mischievous, as she rode, the wheelchair trussed at four points to hold it and her in place.
So, I'm a little melancholy this morning, with one more reminder of a reality that still hasn't completely sunk in yet.
I look to the future, though, and my own family. When the van is finally sold, that money will become a new furnace/ac for the house, the final large piece of the Osage puzzle, and in a way, that circle will be complete.
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no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 15:24 (UTC)The picture you have in your mind is one to be cherished; a pleasant memory of a happy time; if not so much for you, then for her.
Blessings :)
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 15:36 (UTC)Yes, scent has always been that for me. There's even a scent to the house when you get to working in the walls: my brother and I call it "that Harris smell" - the Harrises (my aunt) owned the house from '56 to '70 - visions of my Uncle Vance. It's seeped into the very wood fabric of the house.
I'll be sorry to see the van go, but I really want that silver lining.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-26 19:57 (UTC)*hugs*
Date: 2006-05-26 16:39 (UTC)Re: *hugs*
Date: 2006-05-26 17:55 (UTC)it's quite true...
Date: 2006-05-26 18:00 (UTC)Re: *hugs*
Date: 2006-05-26 17:57 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-27 17:08 (UTC)