A Thousand Rubber Bands, One Hundred Thirty Eight Pocketbooks and One Hundred Necklaces

That's the count, more or less from Mother-in-law's old apartment. She moved last week from her independent living apartment she occupied for the past ten years to a residence next door for residents who are still clear thinking but need extra attention. Her list of possessions could fill a warehouse, her desire for the inanimate, legendary.

At ninety one she is legally blind, hard of hearing, has the beginnings of Alzheimers and scrappy as ever. Some people never lose their edge and I say good for them, except when you are on the receiving end of their cantankerous behavior, which Husband and I find ourselves to be.

She is very unhappy, mostly because she is separated from her stuff. We have tried to
cozy up her one room residence. We hung pictures, scattered family photos and added blankets and pillows to her chair and bed. While in her independent living apartment she never left the safety of her lounge chair, two feet from her bed. But, I suppose knowing her knick knack's and bric a brac's were only an arm's reach away was comforting. And if one of something was good, two, three or fifty was better.

In transferring her belongs this weekend we found piles of pocketbooks, evening bags, socks, brassieres, tops, pants and more sweaters and jackets than you could possibly wear in a lifetime. Rubber bands, brand new all occasion cards and boxes and boxes of paper clips filled her desk drawer (and just for the record she hasn't sent out a greeting card or letter in years). We discovered calendars that went back fifteen years and a package wrapped in paper towels that turned out to be a set of false teeth. I'm not even going to ask.

Buying presents for Mother-in-law became problematical over the years, mainly because if she saw something she wanted, say a necklace, she would buy it before anyone had a chance to gift her one. She apparently needed to do that at least one hundred times.

She began this transition to the Alert and Oriented floor insisting she just wanted to die. I believed her, until she said that she didn't want to eat the chocolates I brought her because she didn't want to gain weight. I'm assuming if you're truly giving up you wouldn't care to be counting calories.

This experience has taught me a number of things. Take care of yourself while you are young, you'll age better, I think. (Mother-in-law has subscribed to a sedentary lifestyle most of her life and her diet is mainly made up of sugar).

I am thankful to not like a lot of stuff. After spending the better part of this past weekend sorting through her vast accumulation of material goods (I won't even go into detail concerning her glass figurines and paintings) I feel a sudden need to clean out my closet. It saddens me that Mother-in-law needs so many things to make her happy, even now (you'd think she would have learned a thing or two in her ninety one years). But being the optimist that I am, I'm hoping she can still learn that it is people that are to be treasured and needed, above all else. I believe it is never too late.