Maybe it wouldn’t be so painful if I didn’t remember the “good ol’ days” when I was a little girl, six years old, having friends over for birthday parties, having the whole family over at Christmas for a big meal prepared by Mom and then singing Christmas carols before we opened presents. I don’t know when the semi-normal Norman Rockwell childhood I had turned into something out of a horror movie. I just remember that by the time I was 10, there was so much junk in the house, I couldn’t play in the living room anymore. I was afraid to have friends over after school because they would make fun of me. We were not allowed to touch or move his things. There were rooms that we couldn’t get into anymore. My father had become a hoarder, although being a pre-teen I just thought he’d become an angry old man.
After middle school, I never invited anyone over again (except my wonderful husband who showed his love for me by enduring that trip to my parent’s house). My father’s hoarding only became worse. When I made the mistake of “cleaning up” by putting some of my Dad’s hoarded papers, old junk mail and God knows what else in a box, I remember how angry he got. I tried to explain through my tears that I didn’t throw anything away, I was just trying to move stuff so our guest could have a place to sit down on the couch (heck, just so they could enter the den). I was so ashamed of the stacks, boxes and piles of stuff in the house I grew up in, I never let any of my friends come over in high school. It even went as far as when I was going to go on a date with one guy, I pretended to be checking my parents mailbox at the end of the driveway so he wouldn’t see all the junk in the carport. I didn’t know how to explain why there were just stacks and stacks of stuff in my parent’s 2-car carport and no room for a car. How is a teenager supposed to explain this to her friends when she doesn’t understand it herself?
For years, I hid the secret of having a father who hoards everything from rusty nails to scraps of paper. My Mother is much more forgiving and understanding than I am, but now that she is getting older, I worry about her health (mentally and physically) in a house that is full of hazards. She has already tripped once over one of my father’s boxes of junk, injuring her foot. She just called it a clumsy accident, but if my Dad’s junk hand’t been sitting in the middle of the *living* room, this never would have happened. I love my wonderful parents, but I am now claustrophobic and I can’t stand to go in their house. The hoarded stuff has literally built a wall between me and my parents. They can’t understand why my husband and I won’t visit more. My father and I always fight about the stuff. I remind him that all of this stuff is a tripping hazard, fire hazard, death trap, etc. But I know you cannot reason with someone going through all of this.
I realize that I have a touch of “survivor’s guilt.” I can’t rescue my Mom from the situation if she doesn’t want to leave. I graduated, got a job and got out of my parent’s house as quickly as I could (not gracefully, but I got out of there). But now my Mom is only working part time, and spending more time at the cluttered fire trap of a house that is no longer a home. I see storm clouds on the horizon in their relationship which kills me inside.
I hate that I can’t have a better relationship with my parents because of “stuff” that has accumulated and continues to accumulate. My parents have collected some pretty cool antiques over the years. But you can’t see the antiques for the piles of worthless junk. Now, these piles of junk stacked to the ceilings in some rooms don’t just make it impossible to navigate the narrow hallways. These piles of junk have created an barrier between me and the parents that I love so much. I know they love me. But it’s like with so many other things (addictions, mental illness, diseases), you can only do so much to help someone. They have to want to help themselves.
I appreciate the opportunity to share this with other people who have felt this similar pain. So few people understand it. This is the first time I’ve ever shared this with anyone and it’s hard. I welcome any advice you have on how to deal with a father who is aging and continuing to hoard and how to deal with my deteriorating relationship with him and my strained relationship with my parents. – MaryJane (“MaryJane” is my nickname because I’m a huge Tom Petty fan; I use my nickname because I am trying to protect young members of my family…I trust you understand. Thanks)
