Other People's Stuff

I learned a very valuable decorating lesson last week. It was buried among several other more important lessons, like "count your blessings" and "live each day as if it were your last." The decorating lesson was this: don't try to change someone else's style, particularly if they happen to like it just fine.

My week began as all my weeks begin -- uneventful and quiet in the suburbs of a large, Southern city. I kissed the kids goodbye each morning as they left for school, and retreated to my home office to work on freelance projects. While preparing a proposal for drafting a new Web site's content, I received a phone call that would change my life from that moment on. I heard these words coming through the phone with my sister's voice: "Mother's having a stroke." For the 24 hours that followed these words, I was swept into a flurry of activity, yet I felt suspended in time and space, as if the world was moving more rapidly than ever while I was hopelessly trapped in slow motion. I recall making several frantic phone calls, then creating lists of things my husband needed to do while I was gone. Then finally, I vaguely remember a mad dash to the airport to catch the final flight of the day to South Florida.

After Mother's release from the hospital, I went to stay at her house -- my childhood home, where little has changed (decor-wise) since the 1980s, when I moved out to pursue higher education. There, as my mother convalesced, I did the three things I always do when my stress level is high: cook, clean and redecorate.

Mother let me carry on these activities without comment. For four days, she watched as I moved around her things as I pleased. Then, I moved a favorite picture, one that featured her grandchildren -- my kids -- in a happy pose with her. When I did this, her eyes popped open wide and I knew I'd crossed some sort of line.

In her newly acquired, slurred speech, she said firmly: "that needs to be here," and pointed a shaky finger at the table where the photo originally sat. Believing I always know what's best for my aging mother, I said: "but it looks great over here -- it fits better on this table. You see?" She walked over, picked up the photograph and returned it to its original spot. She said: "I have to know where it is, for when I need to look at it."

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