Lessons From A Hoarder

I think everyone has an Aunt Ruthie. In one shape or another. My actual Aunt Ruthie was a true and literal hoarder. Her house was condemned by the state and she was forced to move out because it was unlivable. Of course my Aunt Ruthie thought this was insane. Her house was just fine, even though you could barely move around inside. She kept everything. I never saw it for myself, but my mother would tell me of the thousands of Chiquita banana stickers she would keep. Stacking them ruler high. Banana stickers. Yup. She kept those. So knowing that, you can definitely imagine what else she was keeping.

My saint of a mother took care of everything in regards to Aunt Ruth and this situation. This was my mom's mom's sister. So my mother's aunt. She was married years before but her husband passed away young. Aunt Ruthie had no children, despite wanting them, and her life experiences, living through the depression, experiencing lack and hard times, plus mental illness and later dementia made for a really difficult situation, and at times, burdensome, interactions.

As she aged her symptoms only got worse. Aunt Ruthie was combative. She spit at people, treated people nasty, argued about everything and believed everyone else was always wrong. When her house was condemned by the state, my mother moved her into an assisted living facility close to us in Maryland. Now, she wasn't always angry. She would ebb and flow between being aloof and upset. When she was aloof she was fun.

I remember buying her a pair of new sneakers for Hanukkah. She needed them. The hoarder in her had a very hard time getting rid of items that no longer served their purpose. Like shoes. Hers were old, dirty, and had holes. So I found a pair of shoes that looked exactly like the pair she had. I was damn proud to find them. Her beloved shoes were probably 10... 20... 30 years old. So finding a similar pair was tough. But I miraculously found some and I thought, "Hell, she's going to love these. They are nearly the same!" So to my surprise, when I gave her the shoes, you know where her heart connected? To the box! The shoes felt like an after thought. She was really worried and attached to the box. I could see the wheels ticking on where she would stow away this box in her new assisted living condo. Oh no no no. My mother STRUGGLED to keep her place clean. So we couldn't be adding to the mess and collection. I knew I'd have to act fast. A quick story about how I needed a good rectangular box for my sticker collection did the trick. She reluctantly relinquished the box to me. And it swiftly went into the recycling bin. My sticker collection had be long gone. And I don't even think she ever wore the new shoes.

But my favorite memory of her is probably from my sister's wedding. We were all at my parents house (soon to be our house!) getting ready for the rehearsal dinner. Aunt Ruthie was told to go get ready. So, she pleasantly went upstairs to change into her more formal dinner attire. And when she walked downstairs, I nearly burst into tears of laughter. She had on an oversized white, short sleeve shirt with a MASSIVE picture of a dog on it. Not a cartoon dog, a cutesy picture. Like a photographed picture of just a dog's head. I don't remember what kind of dog. But it was like a Photoshopped head, blasted BIG on a shirt. Total elegance... if you were going to an AKC Show-Dog event as a spectator/massive fan. And perfect for a rehearsal dinner.... in Aunt Ruthie's mind. Obviously this wasn't going to fly. My mother bucked up and started down the inevitable path to fighting about who was right and wrong. Go change, Ruthie. Nope. She wanted to know why! What's wrong with this outfit?? Nothing. She was MAD. The dog shirt was just fine. No need to change. But my mother wasnt letting this happen. Aunt Ruthie knew she'd have to cave. So to show us who's boss, she just took off her shirt in the middle of the living room. With my brother and Dad right there. So sassy. Well sassy, and surprisingly compliant in comparison to her norm. This was way better than arguing endlessly about who was right. So she walked around in her bra until someone brought her a different shirt. I laugh just thinking about my brother's face when she did this. My brother was 20 at the time. Not the kind of striptease any boy, especially a college kid, wants to see!

An actual picture from the rehearsal dinner. Those are flowers on a white t-shirt. Good enough. Although, I kind of wish she had worn the dog shirt.

From the stories I have heard about Aunt Ruthie, she was 1000000% the opposite type of person for 90% of her life. She was giving and kind and philanthropic. And she didn't always have such a sour expression in pictures. This is us again, in our childhood house (soon to be our house) with Aunt Ruthie, having fun! I am clearly having the most fun.

Although Aunt Ruthie didn't work, per say, she transcribed books in braille for the blind. She had an old braille typewriter that she would spend hours working on. She often reminisced about this work. I suspect it brought her a lot of pride and joy. And when I told her I was becoming an ASL-English interpreter, she said we'd be helping the same people. Mental illness and dementia does that. So yep. The same people. I suspect she was just proud I was serving others in a way she felt she had too. But no use arguing Deaf and blind people are VERY different. She saw things her way. If she could have seen it another way, she would have. But she physically couldn't. Just like her hoarding. She would justify with such convicting on how and why every single item was necessary and FAR from hoarding. No fighting with her. She had no capacity to allow conflicting or different views exist within her. What a lesson. That kind of person is challenging. Someone not open to change. Actually worse, someone who doesn't believe there is any other truth so change isn't even an option. As I sit with this experience, I wonder how much it parallels life with others we interact with. How many times have we tried to change someone's mind. Online, in person... where ever. And we are met with intense resistance, and sometimes down right ignorance that a different truth might coexist.

Oh I've been there. Tried to convince a friend on Facebook that their belief might be negatively painting with a broad brush. It was a not so flattering opinion about something personal to me. And the push back when I opened the dialogue was..... bad. So even with my best attempt to be kind and open and through DM (not publicly): no resolution. The person thought I was the kind of person fostering the continued ignorance around the problem. And I felt the same about them. We both left the discussion frustrated, ok more like mad, and let down. I wonder if I had applied the compassion I've learned from Aunt Ruthie, if things would have gone better. Not sure either of us had the capacity to go down that road. Hmmm.... something to think on for sure.

But the greatest lesson from Aunt Ruthie, really wasn't from Aunt Ruthie. It was from my father. After my mother passed away unexpectedly, who was the primary care provider for Aunt Ruthie, my father had to take over. In just that there is a huge lesson in love. This difficult woman was MY mom's aunt. Not my father's. My mother had other family who could have stepped up to help. But because they chose not to, my Dad was there.

So here is my Dad, fiercely grieving the unexpected loss of the love of his life. His life partner of nearly FIFTY years. He has his own all consuming baggage to deal with. And yet, here he was showing up for someone else. Not just anyone too. Someone difficult AND someone with progressive dementia who couldn't understand why my mother wasn't around. She would ask my Dad EVERY SINGLE time where my mother was. Dad had to live and relive that pain again and again. And yet, Dad did it. He could have passed it off to ANYONE. Hell he could have just paid someone to care for Ruthie and her drama. She had the money. But he chose compassion and love. My heart swells just writing about this choice.

When I asked Dad- WHY??? Seriously, WHY???? Why put yourself in a place that emotionally hurt so deeply time and time again??? His response:

1) She doesn't know any better.

2) Scared people act out.

3) She deserved the compassion she gave most of her life.

During the end, the ~5% of her time on this Earth, she wasn't unamicable. And for 95% of her time she was kind, loving, warm, generous, and giving.

This sits heavy on my heart. Heavy in a good way.

She doesn't know any better. It was true. As mentioned before she just didn't have the capacity to know or accept more data. Mental illness, coping for protection, and disease will do that.

And when it comes to being scared, truly scared, we know what our biological responses are: fight or flight. And FIGHT is a good way to protect/defend ourselves.

This all makes so much sense. In the heat of the moment, it doesn't. Thank G for the wisdom of a man who's lived a good and kind life. My father is 10000% right. Allow your life to be defined by the 95%. Because we are all going to have Aunt Ruthie moments. Combative ones, nasty ones, ones we aren't our proudest about. I certainly have my fair share. And I hope the wholeness of my life is how people choose to see me. Not the moments that I wasn't even close to my best.

I hope everyone has an Aunt Ruthie to learn from. But more so I hope everyone has a Dad, Dad-like figure, who helps you see the light that might be hiding and hard to see. In every experience is a lesson. I try hard to remember this in the tough ones. And I hope for myself, and for you, the difficult people you encounter that you take a second to relive a hilarious dog shirt, and not ruminate on someone's nastiest moment. I'm working on it!

So someone buy me an XXL dog shirt! My brother is getting married soon! JK, Andrew. Promise I wont.

(Closest I could find to Aunt Ruthie's actual wedding attire)