Usually my posts are feel-good pieces, extoling the virtues and inspirational lessons Bryan teaches me. This one, not so much. It is uncomfortable and, yet, a necessary lesson for me and perhaps for you.

Each year, Ed and I go to Bryan’s apartment for the annual “purge and clean” of his bedroom. He IS a hoarder. Of that I have no doubt. However, in the past twelve years, he has allowed us to organize and clean his room and its contents , albeit begrudgingly. Each year is a struggle to wade through the detritus that litters his floor, his shelves and his furniture.

Three huge bags of papers lay on the floor of his bedroom which the boys carried out to the living room to sort. Knowing that Bryan’s papers – his “work” as he calls it – are very important to him, we offered to cart the “work” he was finished with for the time being back to our house in case he had future need of it. It was getting difficult to walk through his bedroom without crunching on papers, lying loosely about or stumbling on the large bags filled to the brim.

This year was more painful than ever for Bryan to make any kind of decision on what to keep, what to send home and what to pitch out. He was making no progress. Dad was getting increasingly more frustrated. It was a tense scene in the living room.

I hung in the bedroom, putting countless DVDs back into their proper cases so that he could find them and not get upset about them getting scratched. Listening to what was going on in the next room, my stomach was in knots. At one point, Dad asked me to come in to try to explain why Bryan needed to jettison some of his mountains of papers.

Bryan was finally convinced that at least he could throw away the tiny scraps of scribbled-upon paper, orphaned on the floor, mostly illegible and crinkled beyond recognition. One garbage bag was utilized for that purpose. Progress!?

At one point, Dad’s patience was getting short and Bryan knew it. He got up from the couch, grabbed his roommate and pulled him outside onto the deck, heatedly relaying to him what his parents were doing to his precious work papers. Then he came into the bedroom, grabbed a CD and player and took them into the living room, putting on soothing instrumental music to ratchet the situation down and calm all involved. I stood in the bedroom alone and cried softly as I thought about how Bryan was trying to deal with a situation that was clearly upsetting all involved.

After three hours all the hundreds of DVDs were organized by categories on his shelves. With Bryan’s buy-in, I made labels at home and would bring them up at a future date so that he could readily find his favorite films. I came up two days later to put the labels on his shelves. To my horror, all the DVDs were scattered helter-skelter on the shelves out of the cases, strewn everywhere. I tried to find at least one shelf where I could place my agreed-upon labels. I found only one. Upset beyond words, I said goodbye to Bryan and left with the label maker and labels in hand, unused.

I immediately emailed Bryan’s psychologist and counselor, Dr. John, to ask for his take and help with this situation. Thinking that we’d need to do an intervention, like on the “Hoarders” TV series, I was prepared for the worst.

Ed and I got quite the surprise. “How long has this been going on”, he asked. “Twelve years”, we replied. “And has anything changed in those twelve years?” “No”. “Then why are you doing this year after year expecting a different result ?” I immediately thought about the definition of “insanity”! Of course, he was right. Yes, Bryan has OCD and is a hoarder. Will that be changing? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

But, as John explained, Bryan’s writings are a major comfort to him. They ratchet down his anxieties. It is a calming experience. That’s why the papers, pens and books follow him even down to the beach while on vacation and into the restaurants he dines in. That is why he doesn’t want to part with even the smallest scrap of paper. When we confront Bryan with pitching out that which comforts him, he immediately tunes out what we are saying. Asking him to sort and help us falls on deaf ears because the “fight or flight” mechanism has already kicked in.

As a mom who has been caretaker for forty-two-plus years, it’s hard for me not to want to help him be neat and tidy, to help him organize and clean his living space not just to satisfy MY need for cleanliness and organization, but to help him be healthy and safe in his environment. I take it upon myself as my job as a good parent to help Bryan be the best he can be. When the Pennsylvania State licensing people come through once a year, will they find the mess and kick him out of his apartment? He’s managed to pass every year for the past twelve years. He just straightens up the mess when he finds out they are coming.

However, I learned from Dr. John that I need to step away from that clutter and mess. Bryan is an adult. If he wants to live in squalor, so be it. It’s his call. Going in once a year making ourselves and Bryan crazy only lasts for a day of organized bliss. Then it all goes back to hell. However, that’s HIS business, not ours.

As we chatted in Dr. John’s new office, I recalled a poster that used to hang on Bryan’s sister’s bedroom door. It pictured Garfield the cat defiantly standing with arms crossed amidst a cluttered mess, saying “My room. My mess. My business.”

Our new mantra. We found the sign online line and gave it to Bryan to hang on his door. We will help him organize and clean ONLY if and when he asks us from now on. Perhaps he will learn to become like his sister and maintain a clean and orderly space. Perhaps not. But now that’s on him. No more judgmental comments from his parents about the pigsty he lives in. No more stressful cleaning sessions. But if he asks for help? We’ll be there in a heartbeat!