Jan 04 2009
My mom’s room is like the Bermuda Triangle…
My mom’s room is like the Bermuda Triangle. Things go in and they don’t come back out. Even before she moved in with us, we were starting to notice that Mom had a problem with hoarding. She kept all kinds of things, because she “might need it someday.” The worst thing was all the papers. She was afraid that someone would get into her trash, so she would not throw anything with personal information. For Mom, personal information also included anything with her mailing address. You get the picture.
When we moved her in with us, we did get her to part with maybe half of her stuff. She still brought way more with her than would ever fit comfortably in her room. We still have boxes in our garage and attic that she hasn’t gone through. The stuff that was from the boxes she did go through all ended up crammed into drawers and her closet. When she “cleans” her room, she moves stuff from one pile to another and stuffs everything back into a different place. We want to hook up a satellite receiver to her T.V., but she needs to clean out the armoire that her T.V. sits on so a receiver can sit on the shelf. She told me that she couldn’t understand why her room is still a mess after working on it for so long. I told her that she really needs to get rid of some things. She agreed, and for the first time since she moved in, she seemed like she realized what she has been doing is not working.
With Mom more open to REALLY cleaning her room and getting rid of some things, I helped to get her started. I brought in a bag for trash, a box for Goodwill, and another box for her to set things that she wanted to keep. I told her she should start with her armoire. I demonstrated how she could pick up one item at a time and decide what to do with it. Then, once she had gone through everything in the armoire, she could find places for what she wanted to keep. With everything she needed in place, I left Mom to get to work.
Mom was in her room for over five hours. I knocked on her door to tell her that supper was ready. I was hopeful that she had cleared out a lot and was on her way to a clean and organized room. When she opened the door, I was horrified to see her bed completely covered with everything that had been in her armoire. There was a plastic lid from a fast food cup, a pair of shorts that she would never wear, a mini iron that she never used, and on and on and on. I helped her sort a few things, but it was like pulling teeth to convince her that she didn’t need everything. I left her to continue cleaning. I suspect that she ended up just putting everything on her bed in a box and hiding the box in a corner. At least we’ll be able to hook up her T.V. to satellite.
