Sixth of July

My last post ended on a pretty upbeat note. I'm not feeling so upbeat any more, but it is not easy for me to figure out why. So I'll write about it and see if that helps.

The plan for the Sixth was that Brother and SIL were going to do just a little bit and then leave. In fact they stayed all day. They did a huge amount of work. My mother's garage looks cleaner than it has in decades. There are still boxes in stacks ... but there is more empty floor space than filled floor space, and you can walk around easily. Also, they are organized now so that each stack is something different: these boxes here are all books; those boxes there are all papers; the ones over yonder are all housewares; and so on.  This is all good. Right?

So why do I feel grumpy and resentful about it?

One easy answer might be that they showed me up. I kept urging them to knock off because of the heat (it was well over a hundred degrees), and I didn't join in the work; they worked straight through the heat of the day and got all this stuff done. So maybe my vanity is wounded. That explanation doesn't feel right to me, but then it wouldn't -- would it? Vanity is clever at disguising itself as something else.

What I find myself feeling over and over, is, rather, "May God protect me from ever getting such help when I'm the one who is old!" I start thinking of the times that D helped Wife and me clean out our house -- twice. (See this post for the start of the first story, and this post for the start of the second.) And I think of how my Uncle and Aunt cleaned out my grandfather's house after my grandmother died, and my grandfather always complained he could never find anything after they'd been there because they just threw everything away. One way to look at it is to consider this a motivation to keep my stuff neat and orderly, so that it doesn't require fire and the sword to tame it when I'm old. And I've been on the other side, the side that is doing the cleaning. I know that sometimes you have to be decisive and ruthless. That's all true.

But then there was the time that Brother found some shower rails in the garage -- I mean the kind of handrail you can install in the shower if you don't trust your balance, for example if you are old and afraid of falling. He asked my mother to confirm that he could throw them out and she said No. My mother is 78 years old, and she is getting more worried about her balance these days. So she wants to have the rails available to install when she needs them.

And Brother argued with her. Even as he admitted that his objection was purely emotional, he tried to persuade her that she is fine, she doesn't need these rails, even if she feels a little unsteady her bathroom has a counter within easy reach .... I wanted to interrupt and slap him down: Dude, she said No! It's her house and her stuff; if she says No, that settles it. But I didn't. Maybe that was good sense in not pouring oil on the fire -- after all, he'd already admitted that his real objection was emotional -- or maybe it was just cowardice. Probably cowardice.

To be clear, it's not really the same kind of case as with Wife. Mother is no hoarder; it was my dad who piled up all this junk in the garage. Yes, Father has been dead for a couple years now and Mother hasn't cleaned out all the crap yet; but did I mention she's 78 years old? It's a big job and I think she finds it a little overwhelming. So that's why she needs help. That's why it is great that Brother and SIL come and push through all this stuff for her. But if she says, No I want to keep that one specific thing, I guarantee that she has a clear, logical, and practical reason for it. That's who she is.

Maybe I'm just intimidated by that much energy and decisiveness. But I hope Mother isn't. She will back away from fights rather than stand up to them, so it's possible. I hope Brother isn't pushing her around.

At the end of the day Brother and SIL went out for a couple of beers; then we talked by phone and agreed to meet for dinner. Mother told them when she and I were leaving the house, and they were an hour late. This in itself is hardly unusual -- Brother and SIL are regularly late, for pretty much anything -- but it didn't soften my mood. Then they slept over one more night after all ... although somehow they hadn't gotten back from the restaurant by the time Mother went to bed, nor by the time I did. No idea when they actually got in.

This morning I got up and had breakfast with Mother, while Brother and SIL slept in. Then I packed up my stuff and left. I'm back in my apartment now, still trying to figure out why I feel so disgruntled over all the great help that Brother and SIL gave my mom. Maybe it's just the unusually hot weather that has me in a bad mood ....