Heading out to a 100th birthday celebration.
The 100-year-old birthday girl is a tiny, feisty woman. Born into troubled times in Wolany, Poland (lower Silesien), she immigrated to Canada in the mid-fifties and attended the same immigrant church as my family. The war years were hard on Anna (not her real name) and left her with a lifelong hoarding affliction. Now that she’s in a long-term care home the problem is under control, but for many years her hoarding instincts caused issues. She couldn’t help herself. There was enough food in her fridge, freezer or wherever else she could store it, to feed an army. My mom had similar tendencies, but maybe not as severe.
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| My mom at 90 |
While younger people dismiss the past of their parents … or suggest they get over it … without support, many Second World War survivors lived with PTSD and no therapy, no way to share the traumas of a history they barely understood.
Here’s a funny story about my mom at ninety. We’re having tea in the dining hall of her long-term care home. A fellow resident opens about four packets of sugar for her tea while my mom only uses one or two. Later, my mom asks me if everyone pays the same in their care facility. I tell her it’s prorated based on income. Mom nodded understanding. When she died, one of her dresser drawers was stuffed with sugar packets.
My mom was sweet enough, and so is Anna. But after a difficult life, hoarding was a way to cope. So happy 100th birthday to Anna. May she always have enough. May she always feel secure.
Meanwhile, our current world situation is ripe to breed a whole new generation who might have to deal with PTSD throughout their lives. Listening to their stories is one way to support victims of trauma. We are our stories and our stories matter.
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