My mother purchased The Condo in the nineties. She found it all by herself just driving around. It just up the street from where I worked, but I wasn't a big fan. While the complex itself was quaint, the unit, a two bedroom nestled between two other units on the second floor, was too dark. There were no windows in the living rooms and no natural light except for two windows in the front of the building in the kitchen eating area. The kitchen and bathroom cabinets were badly outdated and the screened-in porch in the back looked out at the high school. Plus, it was thirty minutes from where I resided which if I'm honest was a huge reason why I didn't like it. I thought she would get a place closer to where I lived. Foreshadowing....
Mom: "But it's only a block from where you work!"
She loved it. Over the years she upgraded the kitchen and a bathroom. She painted and refurnished it twice. She joined the country club nearby and signed up for the ladies golf group and spent her winters in the condo, sometimes joined by my father. She had a social life and was very happy spending her winters in The Condo.
In the spring and summers went back to Indiana and it fell to me to pick up her mail, pay the bills, and check her condo. That was an easy task when I worked at the pool, but two years after she purchased the place I had a baby and quit my job. Just another reason why I wasn't a fan of her choice of homesteads, and I voiced this at the time to no avail.
Mom: "You just want a babysitter nearby."
After Madison arrived, trekking to check the condo became an event. I had to think of things to do once I arrived there because she had no interest in turning around and sitting in a car for another thirty minutes having just done so to get there. My trips became less and less frequent and my mother's fury at mail lying in the box and bills not getting paid on time added to my stress level of being a first-time mother. This was before the boom of computers and looking up and paying bills online.
After my father died, she moved to The Condo permanently and spent many years there quite happily. A friend of hers spent winters with her. She played golf frequently. I didn't have to take care of anything and could just visit. But then she got sick. Eventually, she became wheelchair bound and living on the second floor without an elevator became a nightmare. I look back on those days of crawling and sitting and sliding, and heaving that wheelchair up and down the stairs with horror and admiration. I'm not sure how we lasted as long as we did. The woman was a warrior.
Her last few years were spent in a chair in her living room. She went from there to her bed. I spent mornings and afternoons with her when I was able, but the only times I was there in the evenings were when she had emergencies, she didn't answer her phone, or when I took over for the night time caregiver. I hated the evenings, coming in the door to her asleep in her chair. The darkness in that living room with its only light from a lamp always made me think of sickness and dinginess. I hated the situation, the drive, the stress, the harsh tones, the anger, the hurt, the pain, and the anxiety and it was all tied into that condo that I never really liked in the first place.
I should have sold it after her death, but my brother had visions of using it. He wanted to make some renovations and thought he would use it during the Indiana harsh winters. He never did due to all sorts of circumstances. We offered it to family and friends for use, and while a handful of people took us up on that, ninety percent of the time the condo was empty. Again, I was responsible, paying the bills, checking it out, my husband doing the maintenance. I renamed it The Condo, capitol T and capitol C, because it became this big headache that sat on top of my head weighing me down.
We talked of different scenarios like renting or him buying me out, but in the end we knew selling it was the best answer. At least for me.
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