Clutter

It’s 2010, what could anyone possibly be doing with a 1991 Sears catalogue? Or three identical seminar textbooks from 1984? A two foot high stack of church periodicals? A bagful of mismatched gloves and mitts?

This particular home has long held an oppressive energy for me every time I walked through the front door, and now I know the reason. In every nook and cranny there are “treasures” from another era, piled haphazardly or stuffed into plastic bags, strung together by cobwebs put in place years ago..

This type of clutter makes me sad, because the person in question is very dear to me and I was not truly aware of the issue until yesterday.

The air in this residence is heavy and stale and somewhat musty. While doing some heavy duty cleaning yesterday, with several windows open and a fan on, I found mold on the walls and areas where moisture had made the drywall bow out in a convex fashion.

If its true that the state of one’s residence mirrors that of their mind, this is a very sad reflection; the owner of this home has dementia and has likely had it for longer than we suspect.

Taking matters into my own hands I entered her home and told her I was there to help her clean. “Oh?”

I emptied the contents of two closets onto the floor and witnessed her discomfort rise with each item that hit the floor. “I can’t give that away!” “I got that from someone special but I can’t remember who.” Many times I reassured her that I was going to put everything back when I had washed the walls and the floors of the closets; it was not my intention to throw out anything without her consent. Its possible I repeated these words ten or eleven times in the first hour alone.

As we progressed in our (it did become a team effort) sorting through of items, surprisingly many were thrown onto the thrift store pile. Every time she asked “What should I do with this?” I pointed to that pile. When she came across an item that needed to be kept, she didn’t ask. When she found something she wanted to share with her sons, she didn’t ask. Perhaps she needed permission to part with items or perhaps she needed direction, I don’t know which.

Nearing the end of my time there yesterday, I could sense her rising anxiety level, and cut my efforts somewhat short. Together we drove to the thrift store to empty my car of her donated belongings, and then to a recycling depot.

Through heated discussions on our drive I have begun to catch a glimpse of her bewilderment and sense of betrayal, perhaps even abandonment.

My heart truly goes out to her as she feels everyone in her world is against her. There are many negatives in her mind, and very little positive. The woman that was once there is merely a shadow, her essence having been replaced by the clutter in her mind.