Life After Mother — Three Bedrooms, Just Me

When I moved into my mother’s house, I cleared out the front bedroom that she’d been using the way people use an attic or basement — where unused half-forgotten clutter goes to gather dust. I was still thinking in terms of “my room in her house,” and so I turned that room into something resembling a studio apartment, a suite within the house. I combined my bedroom with my home office, not ideal, but if I squeezed in a microwave and mini-fridge, I’d have a stereotypical starving-writer arrangement.

My office stays in the front bedroom because my huge beautiful L-shaped executive desk, big enough to hold a computer, printer, writing space, file boxes, desk accessories, and enough allowance for leg and elbow room, too, is so large I was only able to get it out of the garage and into the front bedroom when I persuaded a crew that was installing new windows to lift the desk through a window frame. If I move anything to another room, it’d have to be my bed, because I can’t move the desk unless I remove the windows again.

You’d think a three-bedroom house would be enough space for one person and a cat, but mix together several lifetimes’ worth of furniture and personal property, and you’ve got enough possessions to fill a palace. My mother’s bedroom I’ve made into a guest room, but it still contains original furnishings. Her bed makes a handy space to sort laundry, papers and the like, and it’s covered with throw pillows, two (reupholstered) backrests, and a bedspread she made herself. The dresser, closets, nightstands and bookcase-like headboard are still mostly storage for her things, despite literally dozens of bags being filled and donated to charity, and a few boxes packed and mailed to relatives.

The third bedroom, the one that used to be mine, the smallest but sunniest, my mother used as her home office. By the time she died, procrastination-level order had long since become dementia-level chaos, and the floor was barely visible. Papers, files and office supplies, dating back to the 1980s were piled high. I spent a year, and wore out two shredders, separating the trash from anything important. It’s still a room where, stick your hand out, and you’ll find something to do. It’s become a jack of about six uses but master of none — a combination library, secondary office, file room, storage closet, media room and sewing-crafting station. 

To maintain a one-bedroom (or even two-bedroom) lifestyle, I’d have to downsize to a single office and a single bedroom. That’s on top of downsizing the kitchen, garage, living room, service porch and storage space. I have to downsize before I can downsize.