And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.
While Michael Giorgio and I were happily married for 25 years (as of October 9th, 2024, which I know is still coming up), there was one area where we were vastly different. And that’s in organization.
I am hyperorganized. Michael…wasn’t even close.
During the time that we dated, we had a long-distance relationship, Michael in Omaha and I was here, in Waukesha. Whenever I traveled to Omaha to see him, his apartment seemed spotless. But when I showed up to his apartment the weekend before he moved here, I got to see the truth, that he’d kept well-hidden.
For my visits, he took the detritus of everyday life (and then some, because Michael never threw anything away) and stuffed it under his bed, in the closet in the guest bedroom, in his storage unit, anywhere he could. What his place looked like after I left, I don’t know. But what I saw that weekend nearly made me call off the whole relationship. We seemed suddenly incompatible.
I have always been very neat and organized. There is a place for everything, and everything should be in its place. As a child, I organized my toys, storing them by size and levels of importance. In high school and college, I had a semester planner, which I filled out religiously. My notebooks, pens and pencils were all color-coordinated for each class, and organized on a shelf according to days of the week, and hours within the day. At college, as soon as I received a syllabus, I entered important days in the planner and I always had my papers finished at least two weeks before their due date.
Yeah, I was THAT girl.
Things got a little out of hand during my first marriage. I cleaned the house according to the day of the week: Monday, dust and vacuum the main floor. Tuesday, clean the bathrooms. Wednesday, clean the kitchen. Thursday, clean the basement (which included washing the appliances). Friday, dust and vacuum the main floor again. The hyperorganization extended to other areas of my life: I exercised according to the day of the week, advanced stepaerobics on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, weight training on Tuesday and Thursday, with upper body being Tuesday and lower body being Thursday, and weekends there was usually a brisk bike ride or walk. I joined Weight Watchers and lost 80 pounds and kept it off for over 10 years, mostly because I had one of those huge magnetic WW menu planners, and I loved checking off the little boxes for everything I put in my mouth. I also began to weigh myself at least 20 times a day and chart it on a graph hung on the door to the bathroom closet.
I am not totally blameless in the dissolution of that marriage.
I eventually had to let a lot of that go when I began to be known as a writer, when I started AllWriters’, and when I married Michael and we had Olivia. I had to learn to drop everything and run when interruptions happened. And I have.
But I am still very organized. How else do you think I get as much done as I do?
So when Michael entered my life, and I didn’t throw it all away when I saw his apartment that fateful weekend, I had to sit down and figure out how we could balance this. How could we each have the freedom to be who we were?
It was hard at first. But eventually, we had it down to a science, once we built our condo and moved into it. Michael had “zones”, all of which occurred behind closed doors, either cabinet or closet, so that he could have his disorganization, and it wouldn’t wreck my organization.
When Michael was in the hospital for the last time and it was clear he wasn’t coming home, I began cleaning. And I discovered that Michael’s zones extended well beyond what I thought we’d chosen. The kitchen cabinets alone were a monument to that lack of willingness to throw anything out. A receipt for a pack of gum, bought in 2008. Expired spices, expired packets of soup mix and taco seasonings. Items he bought that he never used and were still in their original packaging.
And don’t even get me started on his clothes closet and what we called his hoarder’s closet.
But here’s the thing. Here’s where the moment of happiness comes in.
I know full well that my hyperorganization comes from a need to try to keep my life under control. From childhood through times in my adult life when I was under stress, when I felt under attack, I’ve cleaned and organized and then stood back and admired the neatness. At those times, a sense of calm comes over me, and I think, If I can get this (cabinet, closet, basement, credenza, bookshelf) under control, then I can extend that to the rest of my life. Even if that isn’t true, it still gives me a moment of peace and confidence and a sense of strength.
This has been totally true every day of my life since January 17th. The night I came home from the ER, understanding that something horrible and life-changing happened, but not knowing yet just how horrible and life-changing it would be, I carried in the bags that they gave me of Michael’s things, which included the orange gym bag that he carried to and from work every day. I got home in the early morning hours and I was exhausted. But I sat down with his orange gym bag and cleaned it out.
And oh, the things I found.
An unopened package of balloons. A fidget toy, still in its wrapper too. A McDonalds Happy Meal toy. Empty packages from snacks. At least a dozen tiny notebooks. Receipt after receipt after receipt, the oldest from well before he had this particular job. Caps from pens. Pens without caps. They didn’t match.
And I cleaned it out and organized it, so it would be ready for him when he came home. When he came home and he recovered and he returned to work. Well, he did come home, for a time. He did recover, partially. And then he didn’t. He never returned to work.
But that night, cleaning that bag, I felt that sense of “I can do this,” come over me again.
In the seven weeks that Michael has been gone, I’ve cleaned every kitchen cabinet. I’ve cleaned the hoarder’s closet and clothes closet. I’ve cleaned out our dresser and the bathrooms. I’ve cleaned out bookshelves. I’ve cleaned and organized, and sometimes, I open every cabinet door in my kitchen, stand in the middle, and just admire it. The other day, Olivia pulled out a garbage bag for me from under the sink and I noticed the box with the garbage bags was pulled out of alignment. As she started to shut the door, I said, “Straighten the garbage bag box, please.” She rolled her eyes, but she did it. And I breathed a sigh of relief.
Seven weeks ago, when I opened that cabinet door, I couldn’t even see what was in there, it was so overstuffed. Now…a place for everything, and everything in its place.
And…I can do this.
So in a weird sort of way, Michael’s hoarding habit and lack of organization is helping me to cope with his death.
He is helping me still. From wherever he is, I bet he is laughing and saying, “See? I told you all that stuff would be useful someday!”
I can do this.
And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.
