I remember hearing a long time ago the saying "you can never go home again". I have to disagree.
From 1988 to 2009, Hubby dear and I made our home in a 70's vintage mobile home. It was 12' x 60' with a tip out. The appliances which apparently came with it were harvest gold. But it was home, on a reasonble sized lot in a mobile home park. We were content with our small space. We had made the little lot special with several mini-gardens and a fancy deck. We even carved out room for a small veggie garden.
Then, in fall of 2008 my mother fell and broke a hip. When she came home we realized there was a lot of work that needed to be done on the old house she lived in if it was to remain habitable. Selling it was out of the question. My siblings and I grew up there, and it was the one thing always promised to one of my brothers. So, Hubby dear and I began to look into what it would take to fix the bad spots on the roof, evict the numerous racoons that had decided to make the attic home, and repair a few other things. Fortunately, her home owners insurance covered that mess.
Two weeks later, Mom called. The dining room ceiling had fallen. Again, Hubby dear and I headed over to see what had really happened. It was a suspended ceiling, and we thought maybe a couple of the tiles had fallen. No, the entire suspened ceiling, rails and all had come down, probably due to the attic work the previous month. Well, more phone calls, more hiring of fix-it people to replace the ceiling. Brother had to pay for this, and he did without question. We also put in a new laminate floor and painted the dark brown paneling a bright yellow. Mom loved her new room.
After this incident, I sat down with Hubby dear and suggested maybe, just maybe one of we five siblings ought to move in with Mom. I knew neither brother was wanting to be caretaker. My two sisters weren't interested either. Hubby dear knew where this was headed.
I told him we had a choice. Move in and try to prevent the problems, or keep getting phone calls and cleaning up the mess. After a lot of discussions between ourselves and with Mom, we finally decided to give up our little home and come back (for me) home.
I took the first seven months of 2009 to open the to back rooms to become our private living room and bedroom. They had been closed since my father had passed away in 2004. We emptied the rooms of accumulated stuff, we painted and floored. Then we began packing. It's amazing how much stuff you can get into a 12' x60' trailer over 20+ years. Finally, in September 2009, we moved ourselves and pets into Mom's house.
It worked out better than I had hoped. Hubby dear had two acres of yard to play with, and we had a start at gardens as we had also moved as many of our plantings from the trailer park as we could. We replaced the water heater within the first six months, one phone call that didn't have to be made. I cooked meals for the three of us. Mom had been eating from the microwave, if she remembered to eat. She enjoyed our pets, they would visit her if I was at work and Hubby dear was outside. We put a hummingbird feeder outside the dining room window, Mom spent her days at the dining room table doing puzzles and watching TV, she had never seen hummingbirds at a feeder. We had other feeders where she could see the goldfinches, cardinals, and house finches. Outside this window we also planted rose bushes, Mom always wanted a rose garden. She said she was glad we had moved in with her.
Then, the first week of July, Mom had to be hospitalized. With the heat this year, we guessed she had become dehydrated. The ER doctor thought the same, some fluids, rest and a little rehab, and she'd be fine. We were wrong. The next day her kidneys began to shut down, followed quickly by the rest of her body. She passed four days after her admission. This was not part of the future I had seen....