There are different ways of looking at this hoarding mess. I could look at my mom and my aunt and just categorically define them as sick and be done. Not give them any consideration or excuses and be done. Screwed up women. Now let’s cleanup this crap and move on.
Or, I can be like a plastic bag in a windstorm (I just made that up…you can use it too) getting blown here and there and having no sense of stability. Over thinking it all as is my way. That is burdensome, particularly in this instance because I do know the excuses, the legitimate life changing events, and it begs one to explain. But, it is truly an exhausting journey.
In my Aunt’s case, I just am so struck by the contrasts of styles of possessions and how it evolved away into clutter and even mucky filth. As we excavate into the house, into the rooms the outer layers buried by the stuff reveal such beauty and refinement. My mom strove for this. My aunt achieved this. Some how she managed to bury away her displays of beauty in her home and in her self.
In the end, I will remember the woman dying. No stuff. No burdens beyond knowing she was dying. Only her right before me. Reconnecting with love and warmth. That is what I will focus upon as I continue to bump up against stuff, why’s and what’s.