I haven’t blogged in a while. Haven’t had the urge. But I need to keep my hands busy and I’m tired of crocheting for a while. Nothing much of note has happened in the past few weeks. Out of school yada yada. This summer or this month or however long it’s gonna take my family has a project, it’s name is grandma.
My grandmother, actually my great grandmother, is what my aunt likes to call a hoarder. She collects random things and stores them around her. Come to think of it I’m probably one too. Cause… I collect things and store them around me… but until recently it hasn’t been much of a problem. For her. It will never be a problem for me. Because my things… never mind. My own hoarding problem is a discussion for another time. This is about grandma.
Rose is 87 years old. And until the last couple of years she has been active and healthy, her mind stronger than ever. Then about 2 years ago she stopped. Or something inside her stopped and now she needs 24 hour supervision to make sure that she eats and takes her meds doesn’t wander away… anyways this change has made us realize that it’s difficult to exist in her apartment. Boxes tower over you, mice hide in the clutter on the kitchen counter. There was an overall smell of musk though that could just be the old person smell, combined with cigarettes. My grandma doesn’t smoke it’s my uncle who’s living with her now. So my aunt decided to get rid of the clutter and organize what’s left, and I’ve been helping.
Last week every night we went over there filled the van with boxes threw away bag after bag of trash, and made things livable. After 8 days, essentially 8 van loads of unwanted stuff to the goodwill and I stopped counting how many trips to the dumpster we’ve got the living room, kitchen, hallway, and most of her bedroom clean. There’s the rest of her bedroom another bedroom and two hall closets. I am in awe of the collection of stuff.
We should put it in a museum. Not just some of it, all of it and call the exhibit “Life” or something like that because that is what this is, what we are removing from her apartment, her life. We’ve tried to take things out of here before but never been successful in doing that. She used to say that she didn’t want us taking her things. They were her stuff and she didn’t want to die with nothing. And now she’s too far gone to really speak up for herself. She just sits on the couch looking old and sad and in pain. As if we are taking pieces of her away and when we’re done and there’s nothing left she will be nothing and have nothing left. I have this strange feeling that when were done cleaning she’s going to die. But probably won’t happen. I’ll let you know if it does.
It’s not quiet, never quiet. My cousin’s in the next room crying over her own existence. My music is blaring blocking out the world I don’t want to experience. My uncle shuffles from room to room in search of something long gone… himself. Cars drive by ignoring this secluded bubble of my world. My head begins to pound a small pain in my right temple telling me to get out, to run, to go somewhere quiet where not even the birds or the crickets sing.
“Take me away, a secret place
A sweet escape, take me away
Take me away, to better days
Take me away, a hiding place”
No comments:
Post a Comment