When Emotions Get in the Way of Cleaning

Living in the home I grew up in is a huge blessing! And a small pain in the ass sometimes when you must confront the past.

In 1965 a contractor built his dream home for his wife in Pasadena, CA. She decided she didn’t want to live there (hmmmmm, what was the problem? Too big, wrong neighborhood, wrong husband?) so my parents were able to buy the property for $88,000. Which for them was a big stretch, but I didn’t know that because I was 3 when we moved into the house in 1966. That would be the equivalent of about $849,000 today. Except with the insane real estate prices in California they would have to add another $1,000,000 to afford a house in this neighborhood today.

I remember having the best play room, which was actually our living room because my parents couldn’t afford to buy furniture. I didn’t figure that out until I was an adult and started furnishing my own places. But that room was the scene of plays given by my older sister and I, a place for building huge blanket forts with all the dining room chairs. I seem to remember a piano always being there, and I took lessons starting at age 6. I believe I stopped piano lessons at 7, then started ballet lessons, but refused to go because the lessons were on at the same time as Scooby Doo. I had my priorities dammit!

The best thing to come from those piano lessons was my first cat Cleopatra, a gorgeous Siamese/Burmese mix. My teacher and her family were moving and couldn’t take her, so she became our kitty. Her arrival was not without major drama, as she was named Cleopatra, the rather trouble prone queen of Egypt. My poor mother took the brunt of it as we were bringing her home. Just as we parked in our driveway, my mom picked Cleopatra up to bring her inside. At that point, Cleopatra freaked the fuck out and ended up sticking her claw through my mother’s bottom lip. Because cat claws are curved it went in the top and out the bottom. Kind of like today’s lip piercings, except this one had a large cat attached. My mother held a grudge against Cleopatra until the day she crossed the rainbow bridge, which was when I was away for college. From 6 years old to college age, that’s a lot of grudge holding against a cat!

This house is a holder of so many memories, and unfortunately a lot of those memories come in the form of a book, an article of clothing, dish ware, greeting cards, etc. etc. etc. I am slowly releasing much of it to the trash can or donation bin. But there is also a lot is beautiful vintage dishes and glasses, vintage toys and books, and a collection of old vinyl records included original broadway cast recordings. I’m going to dust them off and see how they sound while drinking a cocktail out of a beautiful vintage glass.

My home is is complete disarray currently because I am having it painted. Mostly exterior, but my late mother’s and my daughter’s rooms are being updated. Both rooms are carriers of memories, lots and lots of memories. Much of those memories are now located in the family, living and dining room. So so many memories. Everywhere. All at Once.

I moved back into this house in 2003 to help my mom. She was rattling around in this big house, and her health was not the best. At that point she had had two bouts of lung cancer, but was currently in remission. And no she never smoked, so don’t judge please. Women are more susceptible to lung cancer because of estrogen. Aren’t we the lucky ones? When I moved back I brought my own house full of furniture into a house already filled with furniture. Some paring down was done, but my mother couldn’t let go of much. She, like so many who grow up with little, had a hoarders mentality. Even if you’re not using it, you MAY use it one day. That day never comes. When my mother passed away in 2013, it was two days before my daughter’s sixth birthday. I had a party already booked at Build-a-Bear Workshop, and at six, children don’t really understand death. Or at least they shouldn’t, because those children in Gaza right now understand death way too well. Because I had to, I pivoted from my mother’s death to the children’s party, then just kept on going. I found that after so many years of being my mother’s caregiver I just didn’t have the mental energy to go through all of my mother’s belongings, so I would try to do a little a time. Then I just stopped because I couldn’t do anymore. As a single mother by choice, I turned my attentions to raising my daughter.

So here we are, 2024, and I’m still dealing with memories. So many are good, but some more traumatic then I realized they would be. Being a cancer patient, my mother did lose some of her hair, so she chose to wear a cute wig. As I was cleaning out her closet for the painters I found her wig. Shock waves of emotion ran through me. I immediately put it down, uttered some weird sounds, and started pacing around the room. It wasn’t one emotion, it was a amalgam of emotions all together. Every fiber of my being was vibrating with it, as I stood in the room where she had transitioned from this world to the next. The morning I found her I was sad, but I had told her the night before as I was administering her morphine for comfort, that it was ok if she left my daughter and I. I told her we would be fine and we loved her very much. So when she was gone the next morning I knew she heard me.

When I picked up that bag with her wig it all came rushing back. It’s been so many years, and I have mourned her over and over. But that one single solitary item, as innocent as a wig, knocked me on my ass.

Interestingly, another forgotten item came from my daughter’s room, and brought back another unexpected rush of emotion. She was donating a lot of her old stuffed animals, since she’s a anime loving teen now. I saw a little black and white stuffed dog, and realized it was Bo, the Obama’s dog while in the White House! I picked him up and dusted him off a bit, then drew him to my heart and started stroking his fur. I felt a powerful wave a sadness come over me as I held that little dog and stroked him. After a few minutes I realized the sadness wasn’t just for me but for my country. I was thinking of the Obama White House and The (then) United State of America, and how different it became after Trump was elected. And not in a good way, at least for those of us who are BIPOC or LGBTQ or Muslim or immigrants looking for a better and safer life than they could have in their home countries.

Bo is staying with me now. A reminder of who we were and who we can be again. A reminder that we cannot take for granted everything will be how we have always known it to be. I see you Supreme Court and your overturning of Roe v. Wade.

So, while the painters work, music from various Mexican states playing on their portable speakers, I will again began to go through memories.