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After many years, Sonia visits her mother. Sonia has some hard decisions to make. |
Oh, Boy! I havenât been to my motherâs house in yearsâlong story. But sheâs getting up there and has a bit of dementiaâso, here I am, the dutiful daughter to the rescue. âThis place is a mess!â I blurt as I force open the front door about eight inches. There is too much junk to open it all the way. âI canât even open the blessed door!â The look on my motherâs face tells me I have hurt her feelings. But it is a disaster! Iâm usually more tactful, but I canât contain myself. My mother is a hoarder! Oh joy! A memory-challenged, narcissistic hoarder. âOne personâs trash is another personâs treasure, Sonia!â Oh boy! âMom, this looks dangerous. These treasures are stacked four feet high.â âAs soon as I can make room in my storage sheds, Iâll transfer things.â Oh, boy! âHow many storage sheds do you have?â âThree, all in the same facility, so thatâs handy. I think I remember where it is.â The smell of decay is overwhelming. A rat scurries by. Oh, boy! I maintain my position near the front door, teetering on piles of treasure, as I try to figure out what to do. I am an only child, and my father died years ago. I am not aware of any other relatives. Looks like this mess falls on my shoulders. Lucky me. So, dear readers, do you have any suggestions on how I should handle this? |