Well, the magic man had done it again. To keep married life interesting I previously introduced drugs, swinging, raves, and now something I don't think I could even top. For our 10th anniversary, we took a 2 week Mediterranean cruise, and spent a few days in Europe after the cruise. Did we find the magic that should have accompanied this excursion? There were moments that brought back memories of our honeymoon. But that was tempered, by moments of "Hey, that's my cake" which my wife exclaimed as I was trying to make more room for other food, I took her cake off the plate, and put it next to my cake so we would have room for the other food in the buffet line. The fact I had to defend, my action, to show it would benefit the both of us, is beyond me, and I did not like the accusation that I was a cake stealer. It makes me think that her first response to my actions, is that if you don't understand what I am doing, it must be something bad. If she thinks that I would steal her cake, what does she think when I do something more complicated, that she does not understand. I guess what I am saying, is that after 10 years of marriage and knowing me for 25 years, you would think that I would get the benefit of the doubt. Back to the cruise, lets say I have caviar tastes on a janitors budget. How do make it come true, a lot of research, call in a few favors, and some luck. I organized the shore excursions through private tour companies, not through the cruise line, this saved over $5000. I got the cruise line to up grade our cabin, since we took prior cruises with the company, and I let it be known it was our 10th anniversary, and we also took our honeymoon with them. I watched the airfares every day, and pounced on them when the price dipped. Where did we go? We flew into Rome, the ship went to Naples we toured Pompeii (next to Naples), then to Rhodes Greece, then to Athens, back on ship to Ephesus Turkey, then 2 days in Alexandria, Egypt, where we boarded buses to Giza and the pyramids, stayed overnight in a 5 star hotel in Cairo. Went to the Egyptian museum, before the rioits and looting, 2 days at sea, then a stop in Sicily, then back to Rome. I could expand on this, but I would just sound like a commercial. The only thing I could conclude, was I am happy to be an American, after seeing how fucked up the rest of the world is. The Europe trip would have been the big news of the year, but my dad placed a carefully planed phone call to me 5 days before Christmas. He timed it that way because who would hang up on their own father just before Christmas. He wasn't making any sense, he started talking about wanting to give me a ladder and some DVDs, but after few minutes, he stated he needed some antifreeze for a car that has not run in 2 years. He would not say why he needed it right now. I told him I didn't want his ladder, or DVDs, because I thought he was setting me up to call the police a say I stole them. I got him his anti-freeze, and a flashlight, and a pair of small pliers to open the pit cock. I left them in a bag on his sidewalk, then placed a phone call to him after I was off his street, for him to pick them up. Why the non contact? After the last time I tried to reconcile with him, I told him that we would have to see fam
ily councilor if he wanted a relationship. I left up to him to pick the councilor, so he would not think I set him up. after 6 months he never picked a councilor, then he did a whole bit about my mother in law trying to poison him on Thanksgiving. So of course, if he had a problem with our food, why would we invite him to Christmas dinner, for more problems. After Christmas that year, since I did not invited him to dinner, he got very nasty with me on the phone. One of the phone calls he said he we diagnosed with cancer, (over the phone) and that he was going to die in 6 months, and said isn't that good news? About then I stopped calling him, and did not answer the phone if an unlisted number came up on caller ID. He then called my Grandmother, and said I abandoned him on Christmas and left him to die with no food in the house. This is why after 2 years of non contact, I did not want anything to do with him directly. It would take someone with knowledge of a dysfunctional mind to reach him, and after any contact with me only antagonized him. After drooping off the auto supplies, I drove down to the local police station, and ask them to check on him, due to the temps were below freezing and he had said he would cut his throat if he had unscrupulous motives in contacting me. They left a message on my answering machine stating my dad was doing OK, even with his house full of garbage. On Christmas of 2010 my mother-in-law made a food plate to take to him. I called him on the phone to let him know that we were coming over with the food plate wrapped in aluminum foil. He said he would come down to the car to get it, but after some time went by, my wife and I took it up to his house. We could hear the door moving but he did not come out. When he heard us I opened the screen door, and could see he only had the door open about 8", but could not open any further. he tried to squeeze out but couldn't. Then he ask for the plate. He could not fit the plate through level, then he turned it vertical, and in the house it went. In one of our last conversations, I brought up the fact that he use to make my Mom stand in a certain position, that allowed him easy access, for hitting her on the skull. And if she moved and it was a glancing blow, that she would have to stay in that position until she felt the full force of his blow. I did not expect him to admit striking her, but to my surprise he did. He said he HAD to be stern with her, because if he wasn't, she would run around with other men, then he would be gone, and not there to "protect" me, and then her and her new lover would murder me. "So I did it to protect you from being killed or abused, and you should be grateful to me for doing it" says my dad. I didn't want to argue this illogical point, nor the fact that when she was too weak to take a beating (too weak to even think about running around), that he made her eat cat food as a punishment. I did bring up that he had a punishment for everything, and 99.9999% of the time it was not because of her running around. Punishments for a late breakfast, for coming home late, unaccounted time, a perceived glance at another man that he deemed a "pretty boy", for contradicting him, lost socks, holes in the clothes, I could go on and on, but it is getting me depressed, and I think you get the picture. We had a couple of phone calls after that, one of the calls I said dad, take a look around you and the situation you are in, normal people don't live like that, my best advise to you is to get psychiatric help. I did not answer the phone after that, as I felt that I would only antagonize him again, and he would again start trashing me to my family. I went back to my zombie routine of working 5, twelve hour shifts a week. One morning I was on FaceBook chat with an old friend in boy scouts, talking about my dads involvement in scouts. About then it was 7:50 AM my doorbell rang. I opened the door and a policeman was standing there and ask to come in. I really did not want him to come in, as I had a shipment of paper sitting in the living room, and did not want him to know I was running a business in the house. he said I don't need to come in, but I regret to inform you that your dad died today. I ask how. He said it was a house fire, and that he could not escape, and the firefighters could not get in, in time due to the garbage blocking the door. My dad finally became famous, for being and dying a hoarder. It was on the AP, and national news.
ily councilor if he wanted a relationship. I left up to him to pick the councilor, so he would not think I set him up. after 6 months he never picked a councilor, then he did a whole bit about my mother in law trying to poison him on Thanksgiving. So of course, if he had a problem with our food, why would we invite him to Christmas dinner, for more problems. After Christmas that year, since I did not invited him to dinner, he got very nasty with me on the phone. One of the phone calls he said he we diagnosed with cancer, (over the phone) and that he was going to die in 6 months, and said isn't that good news? About then I stopped calling him, and did not answer the phone if an unlisted number came up on caller ID. He then called my Grandmother, and said I abandoned him on Christmas and left him to die with no food in the house. This is why after 2 years of non contact, I did not want anything to do with him directly. It would take someone with knowledge of a dysfunctional mind to reach him, and after any contact with me only antagonized him. After drooping off the auto supplies, I drove down to the local police station, and ask them to check on him, due to the temps were below freezing and he had said he would cut his throat if he had unscrupulous motives in contacting me. They left a message on my answering machine stating my dad was doing OK, even with his house full of garbage. On Christmas of 2010 my mother-in-law made a food plate to take to him. I called him on the phone to let him know that we were coming over with the food plate wrapped in aluminum foil. He said he would come down to the car to get it, but after some time went by, my wife and I took it up to his house. We could hear the door moving but he did not come out. When he heard us I opened the screen door, and could see he only had the door open about 8", but could not open any further. he tried to squeeze out but couldn't. Then he ask for the plate. He could not fit the plate through level, then he turned it vertical, and in the house it went. In one of our last conversations, I brought up the fact that he use to make my Mom stand in a certain position, that allowed him easy access, for hitting her on the skull. And if she moved and it was a glancing blow, that she would have to stay in that position until she felt the full force of his blow. I did not expect him to admit striking her, but to my surprise he did. He said he HAD to be stern with her, because if he wasn't, she would run around with other men, then he would be gone, and not there to "protect" me, and then her and her new lover would murder me. "So I did it to protect you from being killed or abused, and you should be grateful to me for doing it" says my dad. I didn't want to argue this illogical point, nor the fact that when she was too weak to take a beating (too weak to even think about running around), that he made her eat cat food as a punishment. I did bring up that he had a punishment for everything, and 99.9999% of the time it was not because of her running around. Punishments for a late breakfast, for coming home late, unaccounted time, a perceived glance at another man that he deemed a "pretty boy", for contradicting him, lost socks, holes in the clothes, I could go on and on, but it is getting me depressed, and I think you get the picture. We had a couple of phone calls after that, one of the calls I said dad, take a look around you and the situation you are in, normal people don't live like that, my best advise to you is to get psychiatric help. I did not answer the phone after that, as I felt that I would only antagonize him again, and he would again start trashing me to my family. I went back to my zombie routine of working 5, twelve hour shifts a week. One morning I was on FaceBook chat with an old friend in boy scouts, talking about my dads involvement in scouts. About then it was 7:50 AM my doorbell rang. I opened the door and a policeman was standing there and ask to come in. I really did not want him to come in, as I had a shipment of paper sitting in the living room, and did not want him to know I was running a business in the house. he said I don't need to come in, but I regret to inform you that your dad died today. I ask how. He said it was a house fire, and that he could not escape, and the firefighters could not get in, in time due to the garbage blocking the door. My dad finally became famous, for being and dying a hoarder. It was on the AP, and national news. 
I've always wondered how I was going to get news of a loved one passing. We would anticipate bad news if you got a phone call at 3AM. I didn't expect a local policeman to deliver it in person. What does a person do now? I've never been in this situation before. The first thing I did was drive to my dads house to see how bad it really was, maybe there would be some unburned papers, like an insurance policy, or what his last wishes would be. When I arrived at the house, which was still burning at 8:15AM, I talked to the chief fireman. He told me the alarm was sounded at 5:40AM, and they arrived at about 5:47AM. The house was full of flames when they tried to rescue my dad. They could non knock the door in due to the garbage, piled 3ft high behind the door. They had to saw it off the hinges. When the door was opene
d flames came roaring out to meet the fresh oxygen. And on top of the garbage was my dad with a sledge hammer in his hand. They feverishly applied CPR, but most knew, that nobody could survive the inferno. On the porch, I saw one tennis shoe in perfect shape but the other was melted in half lengthwise. I sent my brother 2 text messages, but got no response. When I got home I had a phone call from the local TV station. My first reaction was fuck them, they never cared when he was living, but now that there was a story, they wanted to jump on it. But then another thought crossed my mind, it is too late to do anything for my dad, but what if a little publicity, can save another hoarder, another dad, Mom, sister, or brother. So I gave the interview, focusing on our attempts to get help. We found out from the reporter, that the neighbors called the health department several times, about the foul odor emanating from his house. Did the health department respond? yes, they came out at least 2-3 times, and gave him a warning about some soda pop cans lying around his yard, but said everything else was A-OK. The garbage was so bad in his house, that when the windows broke due to the intense heat, garbage burst out all sides of his house. In the living room the garbage reached no less than 4ft high, with piles reaching 6ft. The living room looked like the waves of an ocean, no water, only garbage. I was told to call the medical examiner. They told me that they had his body, and that I could claim his personal effects. His last possessions were in a zip lock bag. we signed the necessary papers, and opened the bag in the car. The first thing that came out of the bag was the putrid odor of rotted, burnt garbage. We did find some insurance papers, but it looked like he had 3 policies. We called the first 2 companies and found he let his policy expire, just 2 months ago. The last policy was still active, but they would give me no information, because I was not the beneficiary. Who was the beneficiary? My brother? NO His sister? NO It was a cousin that he hasn't and I haven't talked to in 26 years. About then my brother finally called. He said that he did not get my text, because he was working at an Army base, and the security had his cell phone. He said he would help with the costs, and would come for the services, but not for my dad, but to support me. I did remind him that like him or not, you owe your existence to him, at least pay him that respect. I then got a call from the city, they said that the house was a hazard, and that they would be tearing it down in a few days. I ask what do you think caused the fire. They said they did a quick investigation, and ruled it accidental, but no further investigation would be done due to the instability of the house. I knew then that if I were to go back in the house, I would be putting my life at risk, but to get any family photos, it would be worth it.
I went back to the burned out house the next day, and I have several things on my mind. 1st find any legal papers or life insurance papers, 2nd look for any pictures, birthday cards, or home movies that may have survived and 3rd my personal safety. I wet through the kitchen to the dinning room which was almost untouched by the fire and found a filing cabinet. I found receipts and instruction manuals for just about everything we ever bought, but I also found a few birthday and holiday cards, and a few pictures I drew when I was about 5 years old. Next I went into the living room, which had the most "garbage." I found his TV with an electric heater beside it and a black mass of melted plastic all around the TV area. I found the plastic to be VHS tapes, he has thousands of them. There was no floor, just piles of garbage of varying heights. I dug around the front of the TV to find old mail under the top layer of garbage. I remembered we had an end table in the corner, so I started to dig through that. The smell of burnt, putrefied garbage, made want to spit up. Old boxes for the microwave, meat that went bad, rotten eggs, but what I found next, stopped my search in the living room. I do have gloves on, but when I came to human excrement, that did it for me. That was the end of today's search and the gloves. I came back the next day, and realized, the only place I might find something is up on the 2nd floor. the fires epa-center was in the hall by the stairs and burnt straight up to the roof, burning a hole in the attic floor. As the floor collapsed it started to tilt, thus tumbling everything down the stairwell and fed the flames. Before I could get upstairs, the neighbor came over, and wanted to know who was going through the house. I introduced myself, and after he became comfortable with me, he opened up. He told me that my dad told him that he kept all his important stuff in his car, because he said that I was coming in the house and stealing from him. The neighbor ask my dad, what did he steal? My dad said, well he took my hat and some stainless steel spoons. The neighbor did not argue with him, even though it did not make sense. But the neighbor, did see my dad cleaning out his car, the day before the fire. My dad told him that he had hit and run someone last week, and saw the police looking at his car, so he wanted to get his "valuables" back in the house before they impounded the car. Well, what I thought was valuable and what my dad found valuable were 2 different things. I found a ladder in the garage and climbed on the front porch roof to enter the walk in closet, in the master bedroom. I figured that this house put up with tons of garbage, was lit on fire, and had tons of water drenching it, and me weighing 180lbs would probably not collapse the house. there were about 1.5ft of burnt out coals, but under that most of the stuff in the close was untouched. I found a lot of comic books that he collected, most were first additions of Marvel and DC comics. He would buy 5 or 10 first additions, that he planned to sell when they became valuable. These were all burnt on the edges and had water damage. Over the course of 6 days I returned to the house looking in different locations on the 2nd floor. I did find several family pictures in about 5 different spots around the master bed room. I also had my suspicions confirmed, and found swinger magazines from the 1970s AND the 1980s after my Mom died. I also found a picture book of my Mom and dad and another woman, in various sexual positions. My dad took over my old room, and had kind on an apartment going. This room did not have as much clutter, he had a bed, and a tilt back chair, and a jar of hard pretzels next to the chair. He had a TV and fan opposite the chair, and set up to watch TV from bed or chair. I also found a .22 mag rifle ext to the window. I went into the 3rd bedroom, which used to be my old toy room. The heat from the fire melted some of my old models, but there was nothing burnt in the room. I did not enter the room, because the timbers that supported the floor were burnt through, from the fire on the 1st floor. I knew where I kept my Star Wars figures, but I found the box, but no figures, not even melted ones. I did find my Star wars "baseball" cards, but I found out that they were not very valuable. He must have sold the Star wars stuff along with his collectors Lionel train sets that he had in the attic. So now I had to work my 12 hour shifts, try to preserve the old photos, make funeral arrangements, answer all kinds of questions from my relatives, plan a wake, find his life insurance, get his bank to release funds for his funeral, and go back in the house, in case I might find something important, before they tore it down. My dad was a father, swinger, widower, abuser, manipulator, 1st Sergeant, salesman, but the world will now only remember him as a hoarder, that died because of his compulsion.
I felt some urgency, to find as many family photos as I could, because anything left behind would end up crushed and in the city dump. That got me thinking, once I recover the photos, what's going to happen to them when I die. What's going to happen to any of my possessions? Well, I guess it would be the same for most of us, your possessions will end up at flea markets, thrift stores, or the city dump. Your family will keep pictures of you, but after several generations you will be forgotten, your great grand children's nephew will end up with your pictures, and ask, who's this in this old picture? Someone will answer, I think we might be related to him. It does make you think, that the possessions, that family members fight each other over when we die, the pictures, the objects of sentimental value, will all and up at the city dump or flea markets and thrift stores. So why do people fight, and sometimes break up families, over things that will have an eventual value of nothing. Maybe when someone dies, people might see the real value of coming together as a family, and making new memories with each other. If you believe in life after death, the only thing that you can take with you is your shared experiences, and love of each other.
The day of the funeral was approaching. Many of my relatives said, well just cremate him, its cheaper, and he is burned anyway. The funeral home (the same one where my Mom was laid out) called and said, we picked up your dad from the coroner, he has had significant trauma on one side of his body, we cannot do an open casket. They also said he is naked, and to bring some clothing. We went to a thrift store and bought a grey 100% wool suit, that did not look like it had been even worn, (dad would have been proud of me). We went to a department store, and bought underwear and a nice dress shirt. The day before the funeral, and my brother was at my door. He gave me a hug, something we had not done in 25 years, and we actually talked. Since the time he stopped speaking to our dad (27 years ago) he never spoke about him, and would not elaborate on anything I would say when the topic was brought up. Now we were thrust together, and forced to talk about the subject. My brother brought up stories about the times we would be looking for a parking space at a store, our dad would drive round and round until he found one close to the door. If he saw one from the other side of the lot, and someone got there before him, he would break their antenna, or take the valve stems out of their tire(s). I was going through the pictures that I had recovered, and saw all of us at happier times. I told my brother, we did have a close family at one time, the pictures prove it. I said my only regret is that I think of what we could have been as a family, and how far apart we had become from the happier times. I also ask my brother to not hold any more grudges against our dad. I said our dad would have to be one of 2 things to do what he did to people in his life. 1 he would have to be pure evil, or 2 he had something mentally wrong with him. I think the hoarding proves he had something mentally wrong, and as such, I would not hold a down syndrome person, responsible for their actions, I do not hold him fully responsible. We talked about the theory, that hoarding was hereditary. We tried to go over our behavior, but found nothing, overtly wrong. We talked about the good times, and some bad times, but mostly, how this man shaped our lives, interests, and personalities.
The day of the funeral, and there were scant flowers around the flag draped coffin. I made up a collage of family pictures from the happy times. Most of all the flowers came from my wife's family. His sister came, and she told me that about a year ago, on Thanksgiving, she talked to my dad. She said she knew he was not doing well, and wanted to ask him to live with her. But my dad kept spewing hatred about their Mom and dad, and about me. She said she did not ask him to stay, because she just wanted to keep a peaceful home, and did not want turmoil, this late in life. Only one of my dads old friends came, he did not shake my hand, I guess my dad got to him also. I did show the pictures of the house to my aunt (dad's sister) She could not believe it was that bad. I look at the pictures, and I have never seen anything like this on the TLC hoarding show.
MY JOB
I had one of my best days of productivity at work. I am given a list of jobs, I start at the top and work my way down. This day I had about 2 days of work on the list. I did about a day and a half of work, and I thought that when my boss came in at 6 AM, he would be pleased. He came in and saw the printing completed skids of paper, all lined up. He started yelling, throwing his hands up in the air, swearing, slamming his fist on the skids, walking away and coming back to yell some more. I said what's wrong, did I mess the job up? He said you were not to print this job, its not on the list, why did you print the job? I said it is on top of my list 1st job to print. NO IT'S NOT, and it is not on my list either. I showed him the list, there it was on his list and mine, on the very top. He said look it is on the bottom of the list for another press. I said, yeah, but it is on the top of my list and I did it, and I don't pay attention to other peoples lists, because it does not concern me. It ended up he listed the job twice, and forgot to take off my press. Was the job wrong? No, it was a long run, and he wanted other jobs printed instead. Now I wish, that people would get that outraged, that excited, about someone that lived and died in the conditions that my dad lived in. My boss got all worked up over the scheduling of a job, but no one really cared, that much, about a mans life, before and after he died. This incident puts in to perspective how trivial our jobs are, when we could have saved a life. As a side note, our Co. has a write up policy. It is there if you violate Co. rules, but it is also there to slap the least favorite employees down. Everyone does their job to the best of their ability, but some times even after you do everything you could to make the job look good, some thing happens that makes the job unusable. Then they take you in a room and have a written paper you have to sign, as they explain how much you cost the company, and are taking away from the profits and raises. Even though you took all reasonable steps to make the job look good, they always come up with some unreasonable step that you missed. I protested the unreasonable Monday morning quarterback assessment of our procedures. The answer I got was, "You're lucky, the last shop I was president of, we not only had a write up policy, but I used to send a letter addressed to the wife of the worker, explaining how much their husband cost the Co. and if they did not shape up, their job may be in jeopardy. I wanted to do that here, but they won't let me....yet"
If I can make a moderate income, I will dedicate the remaining years of my life to help other families of hoarders. I want to make my dad the poster child of hoarding. This is the tragic and violent end, of a life filled with errors. I hope that anyone reading this, will help anyone that had a compulsive disorder, or anyone in need. We truly are our brothers keeper. Don't let the chaos of society distract you.
Unfortunately in my dads case there was nothing more that I could do. He needed professional help. The only thing, that I beat my self up over, is that I didn't try harder to get that help. But I guess it is human nature to 2nd guess yourself when a tragedy occurs. Someone said, well I guess this really proves that he was mentally unbalanced. Nobody wins in this situation, maybe if Tough Love would have listen to the BOTH of us they might have gotten help for him sooner. Maybe if my Mom would have said no, and not compromised her values, his life might have taken a different course. Maybe if the County Health Dept. and the police would have done a little more than lip service, he might still be alive.
A couple of thoughts crossed my mind. I thought about how easy it is, from a moral standpoint, to be a victim. If you were a Holocaust survivor, of an abused prisoner of war, if you could get past the physical and emotional abuse, then what could anyone, even God, hold against you. The main question that every survivor is "Why?" It is more a rhetorical question, than anything else. Now how about the abusers that survive, how will they answer their conscience (if the have one), or God, about why they pushed Jews into the gas chambers, or why they HAD to beat their wives to death. Those survivors will come up with answers, but they will only be hollow justifications, of their heinous acts. I was on an acid trip one time, and that I was going before God to explain my sins, but as I got closer, I saw me standing there. I had to justify, to myself all the things I ever did wrong. I knew I was a goner, since how can you lie to yourself (although people do it every day). I often think, since my dad died, how will he face God? Will he try to justify, why he beat and degraded my Mom? I sometimes say out loud, how's it going pop, were you able to con God? If you ever did something morally wrong, did you find away to justify it, did you try to do something to make it right?
Why did my dad hoard? I did put this question to a grief councilor. They said that a lot of children that grew up in the depression, were taught, not to throw anything away, as you might need it again. So I ask, why garbage? They responded that it sounded like your dad always had a problem with hording, by saving newspapers, and TV guides, but as he got older, dementia might have taken over, and he could not tell good stuff from garbage. Well, I agree with her, that my dad probably had mental problems, but I have 2 theories, 1) he just did not care anymore, about his appearance, or the condition of the house due to depression, or
2) my dad lived his life based on vengeance and self pity, so I figure he wanted to be found dead in that filth, so people would say, what kind of son would let his father live like that, plus the additional vengeance, of who ever would take over the house would still have to put up with his shit.....literally. The biggest moral crime my dad was guilty of, was not the physical or mental abuse, but the time wasted, pursuing enemies, that only existed in his head. How much time past, where he could have been a good husband, father, brother, or son.
For me? I've been seeing a councilor to fight depression. Maybe it is just me, or it has something to do with the magnetic fields of the Earth, but quite a few people that I used to "rave" with, had commit suicide. Just the other day, a guy that I knew for 12 years, and that I just talked to a month ago, stepped in front of a freight train. It almost seams a logical extension of a life, without purpose. It starts with a life evaluation, or equation as I like to call it. 1st I have a wife that when I am away (or for that matter still here) for a short time, will be drawn to truckers, or her out of work, ex boy friend. I don't know where she stands with me, but from her past exploits I know she would be able to pick up the pieces if I were gone. The brother I almost had; I imagine that him and his wife Lottie have read this blog. From remarks that Lottie has made and her not wanting to "friend" us (twice) on facebook, I get the impression that she finds me morally repugnant. This is reinforced further by the lack of communication of my brother. If I were out of the picture, I would no longer hinder my brothers security clearance for his well paying job. I am sure that Lottie has brought this up to my brother, that a close brotherly relationship might jeopardize his job. I have no kids. My Grand Mother, did not try to help when I was thrown out of my house, and still doesn't call. I work to pay bills, then get further in debt, to work more to pay more bills. The only thing that i have to cling to, is my trade. But I haven't learned to take the blame for over-sites my boss has made. I haven't learned to admit to mistakes that I did not make. I haven't learned to kiss my bosses ass. I haven't learned to forget demeaning and demoralizing things my boss said. I still think fairness and equality should rule the workplace, you can see I have backward beliefs. So despite, my printing skills, I've been painted as a social undesirable by my boss. It is just a matter of time before I get fired. So you add this equation up, and what is the answer? For me, I am just tired and worn out, fighting for the love of my dad, brother and sister in law, or grandmother. For my wife, I think I am holding her back, and giving her a "guilt trip" over her ever increasing weight. She should be allowed to get as fat as she wants, and maybe the trucker, or out of work ex, will desire even more the bigger she gets. As far as another job, well, I always find someone who makes me feel like shit, and worthless. The councilor said it is a personality disorder, that probably came from the way my dad ran the household. Abusers sense, when they can dump on someone, and get away with it. She said someone, who has more confidence would not stand getting dumped on. I told her I am just tired of fighting everyone. I did try to make the connection with my dad, for over 20 years, and I tried to get him help, to save his life, I failed at that also. So am I thinking of harming myself? NO, but I am thinking of what the world would be without me. Like if I had an accident, or terminal illness. - me would be a + for a lot of people. I would like to thank Lottie Lilts for tolerating Mary and I until their children were grown, I am sure it must have been a trying experience for you. But remember, people like me, make you feel wonderfully pseudo-pious. Maybe some day you can donate your time to a soup kitchen, or to any organization that helps people, then you will have done a few good works, and would not have to look down on others to feel good. To my brother, I told you I was naïve, and not lacking in mental capacity. After several times of visiting my home town, but not making any time to see your brother, and now that your kids are out of your home, your invitation to visit you, AFTER you move into your new house (several years from now), all I can say as now I get it. You only want a casual relationship. My dad put a premium on his time, as if I should be just lucky enough to be in his presence, I am not going to do the same for my brother. Don't feel guilty bro ( I am sure you won't) about not wanting a brother or the knowledge of anything meaningful in my life. I hope your new job, new found wealth, your wife, and her social status, will fulfill your life that will be void of your fathers family. I guess when all is said and done, I am guilty of being hopeful that we could be a normal close family, to which I spent many wasted years in pursuing. Had I a chance to do it again maybe I would be cynical, and end the family relationships which "I have no use for that person". Maybe not, that is not in my nature to base people on what use, they may be. How about you? do you base family relationships on how convenient or free from problems they are? I have started to make some rules, to help me get through life: 1)You can't change what people think, or say about you, you can only change how to, or not to, react to it. 2) Have no respect for someone who shows you no respect. 3) (This one came straight from my dad, I wished I would have heeded his advice, as it would have saved me 26 years of hardship and wasted time) Only associate with people, who have your best interest at heart. 4)You can't fix the past, but you can change today, and all days in the future. 5) Your friends or relatives, may not want the close personal relationship that you want, accept that and move on. 6) Accept things at face value, even if people have alternate motives (you will go nuts, trying to figure out why people do what they do) 7) Forgive, even if it is only in your own heart. 8) Be grateful for what you have, it could be a lot worse. (count your blessings)
I did find out what truth is. I always thought truth is what actually occurred, but I am finding out that truth is what people are willing to accept. If you make a mistake or even the wrong first impression, many times people will judge you on that mistake, and that will your truth to them. You could go years, living a honest upright life, but every time you see these people, they will say, (behind your back) "oh yeah, that's the guy that did_____." My dad was many things, some good and a lot bad, but his truth, and what he will be known to the world as is a hoarder.
I some times look at my life as the Wizard of OZ, complete with evil witch out to destroy me, psychedelic adventures, to the end where, now I am just happy to have, what I have, just happy to be home. I would like to leave on the thought, that sometimes, a little bit of love can make all the difference, sometimes not, but you will never know, if you could have made a difference, if you didn't try.
There will be more stories coming, including a section of tales of my father, which will contain, stories of his life before I was born.
One of the few positive stories that my dad used to tell, happened when he was about 5 years old. My dad and 3 other boys aged 6-7 years were outside playing on a Sunday afternoon in the month of October. One of the kids found a ticket, that said "keep this ticket" with a number printed on it. They said wow we got a ticket, I wonder what it's good for. One of the kids said, maybe it's a ticket for the movies. So the 4 of them walked down to the local movie theater, and presented the ticket, but the guy said that ticket is no good here. So another kid said maybe its for Luna Park, and amusement park about 8 miles away. Now as kids, you would have no idea of distance, so off they went. After traveling some distance, they wondered if they were going in the right direction. One of the kids said hey there's a bunch of people coming out of church, across the bridge. The bridge is about 1/2 mile long, and when they ask the parishioners how do you get to Luna Park? Instead of any concern of 4 little kids, trying to get to an amusement park that was closed for the season, they answered go back across the bridge, and make a left, you can't miss it. By now they were getting hungry, and one of the boys said I heard you can eat grass. But much to their dismay they found the grass to be more or less in-edible. Finally they got to Luna Park, only to find it closed. One of the boys said maybe the rides are still open, just the gate was closed. 3 of the boys went under the fence, but my dad had enough, so he started walking back. When he got within 3 miles of his home, he saw the newspaper boy on his bike. The paper boy said your parents looking everywhere for you, I better get you home. So the paperboy, put my dad in his basket and rode him home. At home my Grandfather was waiting, he said your Mom has been all over town looking for you, if she sees you now, she is going to raise the roof. My Grandfather said we better get you to bed. My dad wanted my Grandfather to crank up and play the Victrola. My Grandfather, OK but just one song, then to bed. And so that ended the long day that started with an innocent ticket. When I was going through the rubble of my dads burnt house, I found the old Victrola that bonded my dad and Grandfather, but the house was so filled with garbage, there was no way to retrieve it, and like the story it ended as a memory on the sands of time.
d flames came roaring out to meet the fresh oxygen. And on top of the garbage was my dad with a sledge hammer in his hand. They feverishly applied CPR, but most knew, that nobody could survive the inferno. On the porch, I saw one tennis shoe in perfect shape but the other was melted in half lengthwise. I sent my brother 2 text messages, but got no response. When I got home I had a phone call from the local TV station. My first reaction was fuck them, they never cared when he was living, but now that there was a story, they wanted to jump on it. But then another thought crossed my mind, it is too late to do anything for my dad, but what if a little publicity, can save another hoarder, another dad, Mom, sister, or brother. So I gave the interview, focusing on our attempts to get help. We found out from the reporter, that the neighbors called the health department several times, about the foul odor emanating from his house. Did the health department respond? yes, they came out at least 2-3 times, and gave him a warning about some soda pop cans lying around his yard, but said everything else was A-OK. The garbage was so bad in his house, that when the windows broke due to the intense heat, garbage burst out all sides of his house. In the living room the garbage reached no less than 4ft high, with piles reaching 6ft. The living room looked like the waves of an ocean, no water, only garbage. I was told to call the medical examiner. They told me that they had his body, and that I could claim his personal effects. His last possessions were in a zip lock bag. we signed the necessary papers, and opened the bag in the car. The first thing that came out of the bag was the putrid odor of rotted, burnt garbage. We did find some insurance papers, but it looked like he had 3 policies. We called the first 2 companies and found he let his policy expire, just 2 months ago. The last policy was still active, but they would give me no information, because I was not the beneficiary. Who was the beneficiary? My brother? NO His sister? NO It was a cousin that he hasn't and I haven't talked to in 26 years. About then my brother finally called. He said that he did not get my text, because he was working at an Army base, and the security had his cell phone. He said he would help with the costs, and would come for the services, but not for my dad, but to support me. I did remind him that like him or not, you owe your existence to him, at least pay him that respect. I then got a call from the city, they said that the house was a hazard, and that they would be tearing it down in a few days. I ask what do you think caused the fire. They said they did a quick investigation, and ruled it accidental, but no further investigation would be done due to the instability of the house. I knew then that if I were to go back in the house, I would be putting my life at risk, but to get any family photos, it would be worth it.
I went back to the burned out house the next day, and I have several things on my mind. 1st find any legal papers or life insurance papers, 2nd look for any pictures, birthday cards, or home movies that may have survived and 3rd my personal safety. I wet through the kitchen to the dinning room which was almost untouched by the fire and found a filing cabinet. I found receipts and instruction manuals for just about everything we ever bought, but I also found a few birthday and holiday cards, and a few pictures I drew when I was about 5 years old. Next I went into the living room, which had the most "garbage." I found his TV with an electric heater beside it and a black mass of melted plastic all around the TV area. I found the plastic to be VHS tapes, he has thousands of them. There was no floor, just piles of garbage of varying heights. I dug around the front of the TV to find old mail under the top layer of garbage. I remembered we had an end table in the corner, so I started to dig through that. The smell of burnt, putrefied garbage, made want to spit up. Old boxes for the microwave, meat that went bad, rotten eggs, but what I found next, stopped my search in the living room. I do have gloves on, but when I came to human excrement, that did it for me. That was the end of today's search and the gloves. I came back the next day, and realized, the only place I might find something is up on the 2nd floor. the fires epa-center was in the hall by the stairs and burnt straight up to the roof, burning a hole in the attic floor. As the floor collapsed it started to tilt, thus tumbling everything down the stairwell and fed the flames. Before I could get upstairs, the neighbor came over, and wanted to know who was going through the house. I introduced myself, and after he became comfortable with me, he opened up. He told me that my dad told him that he kept all his important stuff in his car, because he said that I was coming in the house and stealing from him. The neighbor ask my dad, what did he steal? My dad said, well he took my hat and some stainless steel spoons. The neighbor did not argue with him, even though it did not make sense. But the neighbor, did see my dad cleaning out his car, the day before the fire. My dad told him that he had hit and run someone last week, and saw the police looking at his car, so he wanted to get his "valuables" back in the house before they impounded the car. Well, what I thought was valuable and what my dad found valuable were 2 different things. I found a ladder in the garage and climbed on the front porch roof to enter the walk in closet, in the master bedroom. I figured that this house put up with tons of garbage, was lit on fire, and had tons of water drenching it, and me weighing 180lbs would probably not collapse the house. there were about 1.5ft of burnt out coals, but under that most of the stuff in the close was untouched. I found a lot of comic books that he collected, most were first additions of Marvel and DC comics. He would buy 5 or 10 first additions, that he planned to sell when they became valuable. These were all burnt on the edges and had water damage. Over the course of 6 days I returned to the house looking in different locations on the 2nd floor. I did find several family pictures in about 5 different spots around the master bed room. I also had my suspicions confirmed, and found swinger magazines from the 1970s AND the 1980s after my Mom died. I also found a picture book of my Mom and dad and another woman, in various sexual positions. My dad took over my old room, and had kind on an apartment going. This room did not have as much clutter, he had a bed, and a tilt back chair, and a jar of hard pretzels next to the chair. He had a TV and fan opposite the chair, and set up to watch TV from bed or chair. I also found a .22 mag rifle ext to the window. I went into the 3rd bedroom, which used to be my old toy room. The heat from the fire melted some of my old models, but there was nothing burnt in the room. I did not enter the room, because the timbers that supported the floor were burnt through, from the fire on the 1st floor. I knew where I kept my Star Wars figures, but I found the box, but no figures, not even melted ones. I did find my Star wars "baseball" cards, but I found out that they were not very valuable. He must have sold the Star wars stuff along with his collectors Lionel train sets that he had in the attic. So now I had to work my 12 hour shifts, try to preserve the old photos, make funeral arrangements, answer all kinds of questions from my relatives, plan a wake, find his life insurance, get his bank to release funds for his funeral, and go back in the house, in case I might find something important, before they tore it down. My dad was a father, swinger, widower, abuser, manipulator, 1st Sergeant, salesman, but the world will now only remember him as a hoarder, that died because of his compulsion.I felt some urgency, to find as many family photos as I could, because anything left behind would end up crushed and in the city dump. That got me thinking, once I recover the photos, what's going to happen to them when I die. What's going to happen to any of my possessions? Well, I guess it would be the same for most of us, your possessions will end up at flea markets, thrift stores, or the city dump. Your family will keep pictures of you, but after several generations you will be forgotten, your great grand children's nephew will end up with your pictures, and ask, who's this in this old picture? Someone will answer, I think we might be related to him. It does make you think, that the possessions, that family members fight each other over when we die, the pictures, the objects of sentimental value, will all and up at the city dump or flea markets and thrift stores. So why do people fight, and sometimes break up families, over things that will have an eventual value of nothing. Maybe when someone dies, people might see the real value of coming together as a family, and making new memories with each other. If you believe in life after death, the only thing that you can take with you is your shared experiences, and love of each other.
The day of the funeral was approaching. Many of my relatives said, well just cremate him, its cheaper, and he is burned anyway. The funeral home (the same one where my Mom was laid out) called and said, we picked up your dad from the coroner, he has had significant trauma on one side of his body, we cannot do an open casket. They also said he is naked, and to bring some clothing. We went to a thrift store and bought a grey 100% wool suit, that did not look like it had been even worn, (dad would have been proud of me). We went to a department store, and bought underwear and a nice dress shirt. The day before the funeral, and my brother was at my door. He gave me a hug, something we had not done in 25 years, and we actually talked. Since the time he stopped speaking to our dad (27 years ago) he never spoke about him, and would not elaborate on anything I would say when the topic was brought up. Now we were thrust together, and forced to talk about the subject. My brother brought up stories about the times we would be looking for a parking space at a store, our dad would drive round and round until he found one close to the door. If he saw one from the other side of the lot, and someone got there before him, he would break their antenna, or take the valve stems out of their tire(s). I was going through the pictures that I had recovered, and saw all of us at happier times. I told my brother, we did have a close family at one time, the pictures prove it. I said my only regret is that I think of what we could have been as a family, and how far apart we had become from the happier times. I also ask my brother to not hold any more grudges against our dad. I said our dad would have to be one of 2 things to do what he did to people in his life. 1 he would have to be pure evil, or 2 he had something mentally wrong with him. I think the hoarding proves he had something mentally wrong, and as such, I would not hold a down syndrome person, responsible for their actions, I do not hold him fully responsible. We talked about the theory, that hoarding was hereditary. We tried to go over our behavior, but found nothing, overtly wrong. We talked about the good times, and some bad times, but mostly, how this man shaped our lives, interests, and personalities.
The day of the funeral, and there were scant flowers around the flag draped coffin. I made up a collage of family pictures from the happy times. Most of all the flowers came from my wife's family. His sister came, and she told me that about a year ago, on Thanksgiving, she talked to my dad. She said she knew he was not doing well, and wanted to ask him to live with her. But my dad kept spewing hatred about their Mom and dad, and about me. She said she did not ask him to stay, because she just wanted to keep a peaceful home, and did not want turmoil, this late in life. Only one of my dads old friends came, he did not shake my hand, I guess my dad got to him also. I did show the pictures of the house to my aunt (dad's sister) She could not believe it was that bad. I look at the pictures, and I have never seen anything like this on the TLC hoarding show.
MY JOB
I had one of my best days of productivity at work. I am given a list of jobs, I start at the top and work my way down. This day I had about 2 days of work on the list. I did about a day and a half of work, and I thought that when my boss came in at 6 AM, he would be pleased. He came in and saw the printing completed skids of paper, all lined up. He started yelling, throwing his hands up in the air, swearing, slamming his fist on the skids, walking away and coming back to yell some more. I said what's wrong, did I mess the job up? He said you were not to print this job, its not on the list, why did you print the job? I said it is on top of my list 1st job to print. NO IT'S NOT, and it is not on my list either. I showed him the list, there it was on his list and mine, on the very top. He said look it is on the bottom of the list for another press. I said, yeah, but it is on the top of my list and I did it, and I don't pay attention to other peoples lists, because it does not concern me. It ended up he listed the job twice, and forgot to take off my press. Was the job wrong? No, it was a long run, and he wanted other jobs printed instead. Now I wish, that people would get that outraged, that excited, about someone that lived and died in the conditions that my dad lived in. My boss got all worked up over the scheduling of a job, but no one really cared, that much, about a mans life, before and after he died. This incident puts in to perspective how trivial our jobs are, when we could have saved a life. As a side note, our Co. has a write up policy. It is there if you violate Co. rules, but it is also there to slap the least favorite employees down. Everyone does their job to the best of their ability, but some times even after you do everything you could to make the job look good, some thing happens that makes the job unusable. Then they take you in a room and have a written paper you have to sign, as they explain how much you cost the company, and are taking away from the profits and raises. Even though you took all reasonable steps to make the job look good, they always come up with some unreasonable step that you missed. I protested the unreasonable Monday morning quarterback assessment of our procedures. The answer I got was, "You're lucky, the last shop I was president of, we not only had a write up policy, but I used to send a letter addressed to the wife of the worker, explaining how much their husband cost the Co. and if they did not shape up, their job may be in jeopardy. I wanted to do that here, but they won't let me....yet"
If I can make a moderate income, I will dedicate the remaining years of my life to help other families of hoarders. I want to make my dad the poster child of hoarding. This is the tragic and violent end, of a life filled with errors. I hope that anyone reading this, will help anyone that had a compulsive disorder, or anyone in need. We truly are our brothers keeper. Don't let the chaos of society distract you.
Unfortunately in my dads case there was nothing more that I could do. He needed professional help. The only thing, that I beat my self up over, is that I didn't try harder to get that help. But I guess it is human nature to 2nd guess yourself when a tragedy occurs. Someone said, well I guess this really proves that he was mentally unbalanced. Nobody wins in this situation, maybe if Tough Love would have listen to the BOTH of us they might have gotten help for him sooner. Maybe if my Mom would have said no, and not compromised her values, his life might have taken a different course. Maybe if the County Health Dept. and the police would have done a little more than lip service, he might still be alive.
A couple of thoughts crossed my mind. I thought about how easy it is, from a moral standpoint, to be a victim. If you were a Holocaust survivor, of an abused prisoner of war, if you could get past the physical and emotional abuse, then what could anyone, even God, hold against you. The main question that every survivor is "Why?" It is more a rhetorical question, than anything else. Now how about the abusers that survive, how will they answer their conscience (if the have one), or God, about why they pushed Jews into the gas chambers, or why they HAD to beat their wives to death. Those survivors will come up with answers, but they will only be hollow justifications, of their heinous acts. I was on an acid trip one time, and that I was going before God to explain my sins, but as I got closer, I saw me standing there. I had to justify, to myself all the things I ever did wrong. I knew I was a goner, since how can you lie to yourself (although people do it every day). I often think, since my dad died, how will he face God? Will he try to justify, why he beat and degraded my Mom? I sometimes say out loud, how's it going pop, were you able to con God? If you ever did something morally wrong, did you find away to justify it, did you try to do something to make it right?
Why did my dad hoard? I did put this question to a grief councilor. They said that a lot of children that grew up in the depression, were taught, not to throw anything away, as you might need it again. So I ask, why garbage? They responded that it sounded like your dad always had a problem with hording, by saving newspapers, and TV guides, but as he got older, dementia might have taken over, and he could not tell good stuff from garbage. Well, I agree with her, that my dad probably had mental problems, but I have 2 theories, 1) he just did not care anymore, about his appearance, or the condition of the house due to depression, or
2) my dad lived his life based on vengeance and self pity, so I figure he wanted to be found dead in that filth, so people would say, what kind of son would let his father live like that, plus the additional vengeance, of who ever would take over the house would still have to put up with his shit.....literally. The biggest moral crime my dad was guilty of, was not the physical or mental abuse, but the time wasted, pursuing enemies, that only existed in his head. How much time past, where he could have been a good husband, father, brother, or son.
Is This The End?
I did find out what truth is. I always thought truth is what actually occurred, but I am finding out that truth is what people are willing to accept. If you make a mistake or even the wrong first impression, many times people will judge you on that mistake, and that will your truth to them. You could go years, living a honest upright life, but every time you see these people, they will say, (behind your back) "oh yeah, that's the guy that did_____." My dad was many things, some good and a lot bad, but his truth, and what he will be known to the world as is a hoarder.
I some times look at my life as the Wizard of OZ, complete with evil witch out to destroy me, psychedelic adventures, to the end where, now I am just happy to have, what I have, just happy to be home. I would like to leave on the thought, that sometimes, a little bit of love can make all the difference, sometimes not, but you will never know, if you could have made a difference, if you didn't try.
There will be more stories coming, including a section of tales of my father, which will contain, stories of his life before I was born.
One of the few positive stories that my dad used to tell, happened when he was about 5 years old. My dad and 3 other boys aged 6-7 years were outside playing on a Sunday afternoon in the month of October. One of the kids found a ticket, that said "keep this ticket" with a number printed on it. They said wow we got a ticket, I wonder what it's good for. One of the kids said, maybe it's a ticket for the movies. So the 4 of them walked down to the local movie theater, and presented the ticket, but the guy said that ticket is no good here. So another kid said maybe its for Luna Park, and amusement park about 8 miles away. Now as kids, you would have no idea of distance, so off they went. After traveling some distance, they wondered if they were going in the right direction. One of the kids said hey there's a bunch of people coming out of church, across the bridge. The bridge is about 1/2 mile long, and when they ask the parishioners how do you get to Luna Park? Instead of any concern of 4 little kids, trying to get to an amusement park that was closed for the season, they answered go back across the bridge, and make a left, you can't miss it. By now they were getting hungry, and one of the boys said I heard you can eat grass. But much to their dismay they found the grass to be more or less in-edible. Finally they got to Luna Park, only to find it closed. One of the boys said maybe the rides are still open, just the gate was closed. 3 of the boys went under the fence, but my dad had enough, so he started walking back. When he got within 3 miles of his home, he saw the newspaper boy on his bike. The paper boy said your parents looking everywhere for you, I better get you home. So the paperboy, put my dad in his basket and rode him home. At home my Grandfather was waiting, he said your Mom has been all over town looking for you, if she sees you now, she is going to raise the roof. My Grandfather said we better get you to bed. My dad wanted my Grandfather to crank up and play the Victrola. My Grandfather, OK but just one song, then to bed. And so that ended the long day that started with an innocent ticket. When I was going through the rubble of my dads burnt house, I found the old Victrola that bonded my dad and Grandfather, but the house was so filled with garbage, there was no way to retrieve it, and like the story it ended as a memory on the sands of time.
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