Optimistic Hoarder: Box 001
CW: parental death, cancer, suicide
Box: 001
Provenance: Lahaina, HI
Contents:
15 tank tops in tropical colors, new with tags and original plastic packaging
1 sky blue v-neck t-shirt, new with tags
3 pairs of skorts, new, one still with its tag
1 unworn t-shirt, red with yellow text that says “SEE YOU ON THE MAUNA”
Various plastic and vintage tupperware bowls
Various plastic lids in a large ziplock
Small plastic container containing found beach objects and a smaller metal container inside, yet to be opened
3 ceramic mugs, one broken. The two in good condition are one from Sir Wilfred’s Coffee & Cigars and one with a skull in a top hat with a fleur de lis that says, “New Orleans Mojo.”
Unidentified broken porcelain shards
One ‘12oz’ plastic container from popcorn, containing 10.4lbs of (loose) nickels and dimes. On the lid is taped contact information for the Lahaina Public Library
One new, unopened, expired plastic jar of Extra Crunchy, Super Chunk Skippy Peanut Butter
Ruminations:
My first thought when I opened the box was, “Oh.”
While I had no expectations, I should have expected exactly what it was: a box that was hastily packed by a person who was at the end of her patience and completely out of dopamine. Cleaning and organizing never sparked joy for my mother, so she simply did not. Collecting, however, gave her the dopamine that her brain didn’t produce enough of on its own. She would buy $40 t-shirts at every show we went to and she would throw away dirty dishes rather than clean them. We frequently went to New York and would see eight Broadway shows in a single week, not because my mother was wealthy, but because she was wildly financially irresponsible. We didn’t always have electricity, but we certainly had fun.
For decades, she swore to me that she would take care of the storage, and the boxes she had squirreled around at people’s homes after our own home was taken from her out of greed. She desperately didn’t want me to have to deal with all of this after she died. Yet here I am, dealing with it. She moved back to the Bay Area from Lahaina in November 2022. I took her to the Emergency Room five weeks later, where she was diagnosed with way too many things for one, small body. She died of leukemia three months later on the last day of winter. The hospital called me a week later with a survey.
It is not unlike when I, with friends, cleaned out the home of a friend who had taken his own life in 2017(?). It is almost eight years later and I still have nightmares about that day; however, on the day of the cleanup, I excelled. I directed. I called places to have junk hauled and appliances picked up because Los Angeles landlords don't supply renters with refrigerators so refrigerators are our own down there. In a crisis, I am clutch. Years of trauma can have many effects. My trauma response is to be able to compartmentalize like a motherfucker.
I am my mother’s only heir. I was born in the last gasp of Gen-X births, and my mother had me young, being born at the tail-end of Boomers. I have more than a few friends who also have Boomer parents in their lives that have an overwhelming amount of belongings. While it is something rarely discussed, I know I am not alone. My grandparents had survived through the Great Depression, and growing up in their home both my mother and I learned how to extract every bit of value and use out of a thing. Very little was thrown away, because it “could be used for something” or “might be worth something, someday.” Call it hoarding. Call it thriftiness. Call it hope. Call it optimism.
Going through these boxes must be done. I have my own boxes of stuff I’ve been ignoring and I must get to those as well. I am a Kirkland brand Indiana Jones. Indiana Jones and the Plastic Containers of Doom. Indiana Jones and the Tupperware Cereal Bowls of Doom. Indiana Jones and the T-Shirt of the Company My Mother Worked at For Four Months (of Doom). I fear what I may find and I fear what I may learn from the finding; however, dealing with this might actually be preferable than scrolling the internet for the fresh horrors that are arriving at a breakneck speed from the capitol.
Thank you for being here. Documenting things like this is hopefully going to give me the motivation to continue going through my mother’s things. I fully welcome words of encouragement and commiseration. I do not promise any sort of consistency with this newsletter and it’s free so, them’s the breaks. Also, these pieces are not heavily edited so if you catch something, no you didn’t.
Consider buying me a coffee. I’m gonna need it. And you can find my other work here.