It eventually became clear he could not afford to keep the office. The rent and phone added up to several hundred dollars a month. He lost the ability to do almost all his hobbies: glass grinding, donut making, or carving the wooden signs. He would putz around, but earned little, if any, money.
We talked to him, cajoled, begged him to close down the office. He asked “How will I work?”
Packing up Again
We said he had a nice big garage, we would set up a work bench for him. He could “work” in the garage.
I’m pretty sure he didn’t believe us, but finally he agreed, and it came to the sisters to get rid of all the office stuff.
The “office” was really just two rooms in the basement of an old warehouse building. Because Dad did his glass grinding, painting, sawing and more down there, it was icky, smelly, dirty and probably spidery.
I was really busy that month. (You may note I excel at paperwork but became quite busy when it was time to clean, pack and move.) It was a ton of work, cheerfully taken on by his eldest daughter Terri, bless her heart.
The Generous, Kind Landlord
We gave notice to his landlord, who let me know they adored my Dad; he always stopped in to say “Hi” and had great stories and jokes. BUT – they had given him a good deal on the rent for years; now they could split up the space and charge the market rate.
I also found out from the landlord he had been dumping large amounts of garbage from the house, and then from the office into the dumpster, which was costing them money. They had just figured out it was him.
Sometimes it is better to not know what a loved one with a slipping mind has done.
The final day at “the office” came. It was sad, something we did not want to happen, but financially had no choice. Dad said goodbye to the coffee-shop crew. Shook hands with his artist friends. Shuffled out to the car with his head hung and a little tear in his eye.