Too Much & Not Enough

Oh, wow. Wow. Wow. WOW. Yikes.

That is my eloquent response to the status of mom and house upon my arrival here in Louisville this afternoon.

It's hard to even describe. My sister had only been gone a couple of hours when I arrived "on scene." All I can say is: THANK GOD SHE HAD BEEN HERE. I do not wish to imagine the state things were in before her epic effort to put some organization back into the madness.

This house is in chaos but that's to be expected with any move so it didn't phase me. But when mom started showing me the various things she was "going to take care of" or "look through," I began to feel a lump of dread building up in my throat. Everywhere I look, there are piles of things -- including but not limited to belongings, boxes (some empty, some not), linens, files, lists, furniture, clothing, cleaning supplies, vacuum cleaners (yes, more than one) -- that apparently are slated for some sort of action at what appears to be some mysterious point in the future.

Have I mentioned the moving truck will be here FRIDAY morning? This is TUESDAY evening.

And then there are the repeated utterances I hear as mom paces through the various rooms of the house brushing up against the physical evidence of her life, marriage and children. Little gems such as, "Oh, I really need to call these people tomorrow" or "I wonder if So-and-So would want that for their backyard." Statements that reflect plenty of speculation and possibility but not nearly as much action as we need.

I feel for my mom, I seriously do. She wants and needs some control over these events. Yet she can't seem to get it together enough to really manage the situation. She's done SO much but this is a task so enormous on so many levels, it's just too much for her. So when I came in this afternoon and immediately lowered the boom, she wasn't exactly happy. (Refer to my 3/15 tweet regarding the iron skillets.)

"Mom, there is no more time," I said. "You have to stop telling me about all the things you're going to do and just let me help you DO them."

Discussion ensued. She attempted to explain to me exactly why all of her plans and ideas were sound. I listened for a bit and then basically said that I knew that logic all made sense to her, it just wasn't going to get her furniture on the moving van on Friday and us in the car on Sunday. I pointed out some very concrete decisions that needed to be made. She completely shut down and didn't say a word or look at me for at least 10 minutes. I kept silent (by biting my lips so hard they bled!) and let her have her moment. I kept telling myself, "I can't fix this for her. She has a right to be upset."

After a bit she picked up the phone and called her brother who lives in a nearby apartment complex. They spoke a few minutes and resolved what to do with a family memento that mom will not have room for in her new residence. Then we went into the kitchen and organized some files that will have to go with us in the car. Then she went into another room and chipped away at her massive pile of letters, papers, photos, birthday cards to her from my dad, cartoon clippings, page-a-day calendar wisdom that seemed worth saving at the time, political bumper stickers, and many, many more items.

For the sake of our mutual sanity, I insist on perceiving those actions as progress.

Now she's in bed and I'm not far behind. Wednesday will be here in a flash.