(Almost) anyone looking at this photograph would see a messy room. That is all. Just a room that is far too long overdue for a good cleaning. But this room is so much more than just a dirty room. This is someone. This room shows every stage in a person’s life. It shows the good, the bad, and the ugly. There is no metaphor nor simile in this photograph. There is no symbolism. There are no architypes. What you see is what it is. It is a room full of stuff. The things in the room, and how they are displayed in the room do matter, though. It may not be symbolic, but it is meaningful. I can honestly tell you that this is the cleanest this room has been in years. How do I know that? Cause I am the one who has been cleaning it. The answer to my question has nothing to do with the room, only the person who lived in it. This is my Mother’s room.
Why on Earth does my Mother’s room look like this? Aren’t parents supposed to be role models? Aren’t parents supposed to be the good example? My Mother’s room may be a huge mess, but she is still a wonderful role model. Her room is a good example. Remember when I said that the things and how they are displayed are important? Just as important, is why they were displayed the way they were in the first place. I cannot tell you why for sure. I will never 100% know why. The best I can do is tell you my theory.
My Mother suffered. Every day, she fought. Some days, she was winning, other days she was losing, but she was always fighting. She was sick. She had been for a long time. Sick all the way to her core. Her illness started in her mind, and took over her spirit, and eventually took its toll on her body. She had always been depressed, this I knew. But it took her death for me to see how bad it really was for her.
Her room did not look bad because she did not care for things, she did. She simply did not have the energy or will to clean it. To properly explain the state of my Mother’s room, I also have to explain her state of mind. She tried very hard to live her life with love and warmth in her mind and heart. She fought hard to be able to get up in the morning, and sometimes, that isn’t a fight to be won. If on any given day there was no guarantee she could get out of bed, then how does someone expect her to keep her room spotless? She was in pain. Her soul was so depressed that her physical pains were amplified. She had a lot of problems. Her hip was the biggest for her. She had plenty of medication, but she was so bad off, even they could not help her. I remember telling myself she would be okay. She has made it so far, she would keep going steady, just like she always had. She was strong, after all. She was always the strongest person I knew. Even with all her bad choices. We are all addicted to something that takes the pain away. Her addictions just hurt her even more than most peoples do. She was screaming for help. She always had been. All of the tears and the bottles and the pills, and her room. Even the state of her room was a cry for help.
I have the same problems she had. I know the pain she had. If I knew her problems, then why did I not see it? I should have been able to see how much pain she was in, but I did not. I know that you can’t love someone back to life, but you have to try. You have to give them a breath of life for when they can’t do it themselves.
