Well, it’s finally done. I just finished all the inspections, negotiation, offers, paperwork, and bank wire necessary to buy a house. Of course, Jen and I have already gone through all of this after moving out of Urbana, but this time the house wasn’t for us, but for my mother.
It’s not a grand affair; just a 3 bed, 2 bath for around $125k basically in the middle of nowhere. Despite that, the mortgage costs less than her current apartment, for more space, with actual equity in the property. Who could argue against that?
This has been a long time coming, and honestly I should have initiated the process years ago when it was easier to accomplish thanks to the current state of the market. There’s a long story here about how I grew up in poverty and fought hard to escape it, but I already told that story.
For the most part, I look at this as just me being fiscally responsible. Mom has spent decades doing custom seamstress work without pause. But that’s only a way to keep a roof over your head, not to build up a retirement fund, or to keep your head above water when work is slim. So I’ve already spent tens of thousands paying her rent occasionally over the years. Why not buy her a house instead?
She already loves it, which should be obvious given she did all the hard work trekking around with her real estate agent and vetting the available options. She now has a home for the first time, and I can certainly relate to the sense of security that brings. It’s one less thing to worry about in a world of uncertainty.
It’s a new chapter in a family that started with nothing. I’m hardly rich, but I bought a house for my mother. That’s something, I suppose.