The Hoarder: Outraged

Pierre, a forty-nine year truck driver felt overwhelmed, as he entered his father’s trailer. Huge tears welled up in his eyes. The heavy odor made him gasp. “What on earth?” 

Dennis, his seventy-five year old father, had recently lost his second wife, Alicia, to lung cancer. While a stranger to Pierre, he knew Alicia was the love of his father’s life. She had been a heavy smoker.

“Obviously Dad is too,” said Pierre. He put out a smoldering cigarette in a huge, ashtray filled with old, cigarette butts beside a huge stack of old newspapers, on a wooden table.

“Dennis is not coping,” reported Martha, a neighbor, who had contacted Pierre. “He is a hoarder. Please come and check on him.”

“I am delivering a container in that area, next week,” replied Pierre. “I’ll visit him on my way back.”

As Pierre’s eyes gradually adjusted to the light in the room, he was appalled. Almost every square inch of the living room contained stacks of various kinds of broken objects scattered around the room in such a way no one could walk through it. Huge piles of things appeared to have fallen over. Dirty boots, coats, clothes, blankets and towels lay everywhere.

“Has someone trashed Dad's place?” he wondered. 

The coffee table lay upside down, on top of other, broken furniture. There was old, dark blood splattered everywhere. 

“You were right to call me, Martha.”

An unopened letter was on the floor, the last one he had sent to his father. It contained a check for his step-mother’s funeral expenses. 

Piles of torn garbage bags and half-empty, broken boxes, blocked the entrance to every room. Pierre could not believe the number of antiques, miscellaneous household items and other kinds of junk, they had collected. Bags of unpacked groceries stood on the kitchen table and chairs. Others lay on the floor. Empty cans and bottles littered the room. Partially eaten containers of food were stacked on the fridge and stove. The kitchen sink and counter were overflowing with dirty dishes. The food the refrigerator appeared rancid.

“Don’t touch anything,” his father ordered, several moments later.

“Alicia's gone. We were recycling and trashed the place because we were outraged by her cancer. Want  some coffee?”