The deal is done. The house is Dad's. The best way to stake a claim to property is to deposit a pile of crap therein. I brought a small one with me. 9403 now is part of the Squires estate.
I wrote last week of my reasons for taking this step. You learned that I believe strongly Dad will thrive here in a way he can't institutionalized. Whether or not this is true this home will be so much more comfortable for him. At 88 comfort must be the primary concern.
This purchase is the right choice for Dad. It is a miracle for me.
In 2012 my world changed. For 15 months I lived in the home I owned where love and I were broken. In May the next year I sold out and I left.
For the next four months I was practically, if not financially, homeless, living in hotels and motels along the east coast. In the fall I began my year in New York. I would not trade a minute of that time but the city was never home. I learned that for it to be home one needed either a birth certificate or twenty years.
I returned to Richmond and have since lived in two dwellings, both nice and comfortable but not mine and not home. For me home is a place one can mold, one that will change as you do. Ownership breeds creativity which makes a home unique. A home is a place to love.
I have that place now. For months the 1970s have crowded my mind. You may have read of my troubles with memory. My memories of that time are unaffected and they swarmed me. I became re-addicted to its music - old songs where I knew every word. To me these were memories of a time without care, a time when I fledged and began to fly. Memory made it a perfect time.
Now I am back at the root of that world. I will live steps from the home where I became a man. Perhaps living here now will cause me to progress in that way again.
Very early in my recovery I found three touchstones that named my hopes. They are simple but in a life stripped bare simplicity is wealth. Safety, security and peace became my goals. If I found these my life would be full.
I now have reached the end of the trail and have my reward. This house is my father's and it is mine. When he leaves me it will be mine in fact. I will no longer worry about where I will sleep. The fears and danger that a rootless life brings will not trouble me. I will be at peace because I have a home, a real place to call mine.
Life, I have found progresses in its own time. It has not been so long since I became ill but for me each moment was tiresome as I searched for a reason to carry on. Despair became my partner, never loud or angry but always nearby.
Today I have nothing to complain about. I have a job, one of surpassing importance. I have all the health I need. I have a home, a real one, magical even.
As a teen I roamed the streets of Farmington. They are unusually wide, perfect for strolls or herding with friends flying on Sting Rays and 10-speeds. I love to walk but haven't in so long. Now I have the perfect place and I will walk for miles filled with memories, to return home and together with Dad make more.
I have quoted my dear, departed friend Steve Moore often in these posts. As usual his words are perfect. Life is good.