Clear Your Space...Clear Your Mind #11

 Chapter 7 ~ Spring  

"I stuck my head out the window this morning

     and spring kissed me bang in the face."

                                Langston Hughes

     It is spring, or at least that’s what the calendar says.  In Chicago spring doesn’t actually arrive until May and currently it’s three weeks into March.  Remember that old adage about the month of March?   “It comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb”?  Not true.  Without fail, it’s the other way around.  March comes in soft and gentle, giving you this sense of spring to come.  Then bang boom, it’s winter again, below freezing temperatures, snow, wind, blah, blah, blah.

     It’s almost here and I can appreciate it’s in the neighborhood, just around the corner.  Soon the vegetation will reveal it has only been asleep.  The trees will galvanize.  The daffodils, the crocuses, the tulips, will come out to impress us, seriously.  We will open our windows, breathe deeply and announce,  “Yes, we survived another winter, thank the Lord.”  In the meantime, I’m looking out my double-hung at a fresh new layer of snow.  

     There is no demonstration of what’s about to happen and I must rely on my memory of previous springs.  I talk to myself,  “Linda, it is a predictable, inevitable and repeatable cycle, practice patience.”  But the so-called ambience of winter and the mood from these long cold months hang around.  I am keenly aware we are at the tail end of it, so I sit, anticipating, twiddling my thumbs, tapping my desk, like an expectant mother nesting, anxiously awaiting birth. 

     I have already purged six old coats from my hall closet.  I am contemplating getting rid of them this year rather than squirreling them away in the basement, again, but I don’t.  I know better, I am a Professional Organizer for God’s sake.  I should just donate them, but I don’t have the strength.  I have an overwhelming impulse to eradicate the excess but not enough battery power left to tackle it.  I soothe myself,  “When the sun comes out and the temperatures rise I will re-charge.”  Spring is a time for revitalization and a good time to lessen the load.  A simple way to do that?  Move. 

     One particular spring my dear friend Joyce made the decision to once and for all relocate.  She was finally changing her address, and it was about time.  At eighty years old, Joyce had new constitutional challenges.  With the addition of a walker, she had become a prisoner in her apartment.  The prehistoric elevator located in her lobby, with it’s leaden door, was difficult for me to maneuver, let alone Joyce.  The three flights of stairs were impossible to climb with her new contraption.  Moving had become a necessity. 

     Joyce’s body was fragile, but her spirit alive and well.  Everyone whose life she touched wanted to be in her presence for she is a good listener with a kind heart.  I knew Joyce would make many friends in her new residence.  Since she is a  benevolent mother figure and my trusted friend, I was excited to help Joyce embark on this new chapter.  I couldn’t wait to begin.

     I examined Joyce’s new residence and I was delighted.  The elevator functioned and the dining room was lovely.  There were classes, activities, lectures, and a library.  Her new apartment was fabulous.  The rooms were spacious, the closets expansive, and the shower accessible.  A new coat of paint brightened the walls.  It was light and sun-filled, with the addition of a small private balcony that let in fresh air.  Most importantly, someone was in the building twenty four hours a day and Joyce would not be alone.  She would be among people and no longer isolated.  I would worry less, as would her children, and we were comforted by this knowledge.  I took measurements and began to strategize for the big day.

     Joyce lived in an enormous apartment building that was filled with students and many families from overseas.  The structure had not been maintained well, essentially a slum, but when you stepped into Joyce’s apartment you were transported from the ghetto into a charming sanctuary.  Every corner smiled with a little tchotchke, all lovingly arranged, reminding you of Joyce.  She loved her treasures and now they all had to be examined and weighed to see if they were worthy of making the trip into her newer, but smaller, apartment.

     The sorting process commenced and Joyce sat on the sofa while I held things up.  I asked her to vote, ”Joyce, keep or toss?”  She paused momentarily; I threw it in the “keep” pile because only the easy “outs” would proceed on for donation.  No time to negotiate as there was much to do.  Joyce had lived there for eighteen years, consequently lots of accumulation. 

     I was happy as a clam, finding great pleasure in tossing Joyce’s things.  She was less than enthusiastic and not excited or invigorated by the possibilities.  Her experience was colored by the reasons for it. 

     Joyce said,  “If I weren’t aging, I could bring in the groceries.  I could load them onto the elevator and manage that door.  If I weren’t aging, I could walk the three flights to my apartment and skip the elevator all together.   Linda, they shoot horses when they get this old!” 

     “Joyce, we are not going to shoot you, give it up,” I remark.  “We love you, and I’m going to keep on packing.”

     For weeks we processed her belongings, scouring each closet and drawer, attempting to skim off twenty percent of her worldly goods.  The combination of sorting, planning and the relief that Joyce would be safe, created a joyful experience - for me.

     I was in tune with every box I packed and I knew where every item was going to live, everything had been accounted for.  I described how her pottery collection would be displayed, where her files would be stored, and I took great pleasure sharing the closet set-up.  I knew when the time came it would be a fine-tuned machine, and at days end, Joyce would be settled in her new home.  I was so happy, I wanted her to be happy too, but she was not. 

     “If my back were better I could stay here,” Joyce grumbled,  “The rent is so cheap, I’ll never be able to afford to buy anything once I move.”  She complained.  With each negative comment she went downhill.  Joyce hated that her hard earned money, saved for a rainy day (did I mention she was eighty years old?) would go toward a higher cost of living.

      “I agree Joyce, it will be a lifestyle change, I’ll give you that.  Spontaneous shopping won’t be possible.  But your new place will restore your physical independence.  You’ll be able to go outside, get to the market.”

     All Joyce felt was diminished emotional freedom.  She disliked this change and was heartbroken it had become inescapable.  I was the only one rejoicing; Joyce was in mourning.  No matter how cheery and sunny I was, I could not affect her deep sense of loss and lack of control.  My light did not shine brightly enough to ignite hers.  Her children and I underestimated the emotional and physical impact this move would have on her and she began deteriorating.  Her already existing fragility became exacerbated by the sheer idea of going into a retirement hotel. 

     Change can be unsettling, no matter hold old you are, but at eighty, comfort zones are deeply ingrained.  Yet change can be rejuvenating.  Downsizing is a time for letting go of the familiar and with that often comes grief and sorrow.  But having something to look forward to can be the inspiration to keep on going.  It can provide one with a reason to live.  It was my hope that when Joyce finally settled into her new digs she would regain some of her strength.

     It was moving day.  Joyce’s children came to help.  We were a focused team, having her installed in a matter of hours.  Every box was unpacked and every piece of furniture placed according to plan.  The bed was made, the pictures were hung, we were encouraged.  Joyce was surrounded by her family, a good distraction, but she was in pain and not feeling well.  The stress of the move, the activity, the commotion, the pure vibrating energy of it all, had done her in.  Joyce ended up in the emergency room and later, admitted to the hospital.  What a way to begin this new phase.

     This was certainly not how I pictured Joyce’s entrance into her new apartment playing out.  Everything was in it’s place, it looked great, but Joyce was not lined up with it - ever.                   

     When the chasm between how you feel, what you think and the actions you take around it is wide, the experience can be unpleasant, a very bumpy ride.  Definitely not downstream.      

     The apartment was physically settled but emotionally Joyce was not.  After a couple of days Joyce returned.  She was weak and didn’t have the energy or the heart to go to the dining room for dinner.  Along with a bad back, pain in her ribs, and a walker, Joyce had severe food allergies.  This was discussed prior to the move but the chef still did not understand how to accommodate her needs.  It was clear this adjustment was going to take time.  I prayed Joyce would have the time to make it.  

      Several months later I began to notice a change.  Joyce had started to acclimate to her surroundings.  She finally went down to the dining room for supper.  The chef bought new pans, specifically for Joyce, so as not to contaminate her food.  It appeared the storm has passed.

     Much time has elapsed since that spring day, and I am pleased to report Joyce is doing well.  As predicted, the residents adore her.  She has more visitors than she could ever want.  She loves her time, alone, in her sweet apartment.  The hotel likes to show it off as a model unit because of its charm and personal touches.  Like her apartment before, Joyce’s home is her sanctuary.  She attends the lectures and classes and periodically treats herself to small shopping sprees.  We decorate her apartment for the holidays and organize her clothes as the seasons change.  Each spring we haul out the pastels and pack away the woolies.  Joyce is finally home.

   to be continued....