Six months to clean, 73 days to sell, and ten minutes to close.
That’s a pandemic time stamp to wrap up the “house” part of my sister Mimi’s life.
This timing mimics, with numbing speed, the roller coaster of grief and estate matters that first hijacked my life last October.
Like clockwork, coronavirus hijacked our last biggie: the closing of my sister’s house last week. But this day brought the quick dealmaking I’ve ever experience with a house sale.
The red alerts began with the title company’s final email the day before:
We gathered at the house of my other sister, Merrilynn Stockton. The thick wad of house‐closing papers arrived.
We sisters signed. And signed. And signed. Even as our fingers and palms cramped and ached.
DH had paperwork, too: a silly affidavit with legalese about inherited versus community property.
Merrilynn delivered the completed papers. I took the historic photos. Terri, the Title Lady, inspected our signatures.
Who’s missing from this party?
Yes, the buyer.
A young couple from outside Houston bought our sister’s house. From the documents we’d signed, we discovered they had sat in their own remote location the day before. They wrote their names a bazillion times, too. All we learned or saw of them was their signatures.
Closing on a house used to be fun. Now, it’s only memorable.
This one I’ll remember as the most creative. Which has taught me one thing.
When chaos reigns, you can do anything — even clean, sell, and close a house.
All you need is willpower.
By the way, have you updated yours—your will, I mean?
I promise that’s my last friendly reminder.
You don’t want to live this road trip.