This blog is dedicated to the memory of someone I knew and loved. It involves a traumatic personal experience and is a real life example of mental illness. The story is explicitly written from my personal perspective and I purposefully avoided the use of the names of the other people in my life at the time that I did not receive explicit consent from. I know that the person that this story was written about would have given their complete and unconditional consent and would allow me to write about the situation with complete trust. This story is meant to raise awareness about a mental health condition and behavior that affects between 5% and 6% of the population of North America and is a real life account of one such case.

Thank you to all of those who were present during this time in my life. I was struggling at the time in my own life and I sincerely apologize if I owe you anyone any amends. Please reach out to me directly if you wish, I want to hear from you.

And now, we begin…

In Memory of Gary, AKA Magoo

My roommate and I used to stay up way too late, talking about all of the most important topics in the universe. We had lived together for a very long time and been good friends so we had no difficulties getting into deep conversations and discussions about nearly anything. We shared an interest in the occult, ghost hunting, and that usually branched off into even weirder topics but it really formed a bond between us that has become life-long and I am so grateful for it.

So one evening, when we were up talking, the topic of “would you wake someone up to let them know a loved one had passed away? Or, would you be the type of person to let them sleep and have one more peaceful evening?”

Never did we think we would get a real-life example to practice on so quickly.

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Gary joined my ghost hunting group in the early years. He showed up to every event, every activity, every investigation. He was by far the most enthusiastic member of our team. We all loved having him around and we spent countless hours together as a group and one-on-one with him.

When Gary was younger he played a lot of sports and spent time hanging out with his friends. He competed in track and field, and was an active member of the Dutch-Canadian community locally, as were his parents. He was adopted from an early age, but he was taken in and loved as if he was one of their own. His parents enjoyed gardening, won awards for their beautiful yard, and all of them spent quality time travelling the world; especially in the homeland.

When he was about 18 or 19, Gary broke his arm in a sporting event. He was tackled in football if I remember correctly, and the break was clean-through. During diagnostics, they discovered that he had cancer within his bones. Doctors began intense chemo-therapy immediately to stop the spread and save his life. Due to the aggression of the treatment it had an effect on his developing mind, Gary’s ability to learn became affected and his capacity became reduced. His life was saved, but Gary wasn’t quite the same ever again. He lost a little piece of himself during the process. He remained his loveable self, honest and kind, but he required additional care on top of what the average person would need. He was “young forever.”

He lived with his parents into adulthood, but within a very short period of time he ended up losing both of his parents. That left him alone with a small inheritance and he became dependent upon the province to grant him care and provide his agency.

Gary’s other best friend stayed alongside him, thick or thin they were in it together. For 30 years they spent weekends together, drank beer and pop, and listened to rock music. He was always someone that he could rely on. Of course, his friend got married and had a life so Gary found other ways to keep himself occupied as to not be a third wheel; not that he ever was. He took up butchering at NAIT and was well liked by everyone he met there. He spent lots of time on ghost tours and was active in many different social circles.

I met Gary at one of the Edmonton Paranormal Society events. He was eager and kind, so I took a shine to him right away. He joined our group and all of us welcomed him with open arms. He became a member of our family. We would spend evenings and weekends together visiting haunted locations, participating in investigations, setting up and taking down events, and we also got together for other reasons like concerts as well. He loved classic rock and attending music events and concerts with his best friends. In fact, one of my favorite memories of all time was attending Deep Purple with him. Jonas and the Massive Attraction opened for them at Rexall place and we laughed so hard we both fell out of our chairs. It was incredible.

One evening, just after returning to our house after an event, Gary appeared more disoriented than he normally would be. Gary was always a little scatterbrained, but this time it was a bit different. His lips turned blue, so we lowered him to the ground carefully and called for an ambulance. Within a few minutes, he was whisked off to the hospital.

In the hospital, we kept him company and stayed alongside him. He was well taken care of during his stay. It appeared to doctors that he had a tear in his aorta, he was experiencing internal bleeding which was why he was having fainting spells. They operated on him and he began his recovery in the hospital room. All of our friends took turns visiting, he was rarely alone during any of that time. Even when sleeping, someone was often looking over him.

He and I always bonded over birds. Knowing he had a pet cockatiel, and myself being the owner of a rescued African Grey Parrot, I volunteered to visit his apartment and make sure that “Pookie” was well taken care of. I gathered Gary’s keys and headed off to spend some time playing with the bird.

He lived on the second floor of a small apartment building. I unlocked the doors and found my way to the right apartment number. Strange how I had known him all of those years but had never been inside his home, we always met at my place or I picked him up out front. We never had the reason to go in and I remember that being something going through my head as I approached.

I unlocked the door, turned the knob, and opened it up. The apartment was dark so I fumbled to find the lightswitch. I clicked it on and was a bit astounded at what I saw. It was a single bedroom apartment, living room to the right, small kitchen and dining room straight ahead of me. To the left would be the hallway that took a quick 90 degree parallel with the kitchen path, it led to the bathroom and bedroom suite. The entire floor had a platform of cardboard boxes, about knee to waist high, with only enough space between them all to walk sideways. On top of all of the boxes was a layer of dust half a centimeter deep. Feathers were lightly spread among it all. I could only assume it all had been there for a very long time and there had been no apparent attempt to clean or dust any of it ever.

I made my way through space. The sink was full of dishes but they hadn’t been disturbed in what I would guess was years. There was a garbage bag full of takeout packaging and energy drink cans. He had a computer desk where the dining room would typically be arranged, it was surrounded in smaller boxes with enough clean space to spin in an office chair and access the desktop and computer.

He must have slept in the living room often because the couch was relatively clean aside from having a pillow and blanket on it. There was enough room in the living room to access the bird cage, the television, the balcony access, and the couch. It was also apparent that he enjoyed allowing Pookie to be free-range, locking him up for nighttimes only.

The rest of the apartment was pretty much the same. He had enough room to dress and sleep in the bedroom and living room. He had enough space to bathe and use the washroom. Everywhere else was inaccessible due to the walls of cardboard boxes.

I returned to him with my report. Pookie was safe but of course, I had to ask about the apartment. Not in a judgemental way at all, just strictly out of concern. I always assumed he just didn’t have much which was why it never really crossed my mind to be the opposite. 

What actually had happened was that he had inherited his parent’s belongings when they passed away suddenly but due to his capacity he was unable to maintain a home. So when he was forced to sell the family home, and had to move into the apartment, he brought all of the boxed estate belongings with him. He never opened them again due to the difficulty facing the emotions it brought up for him and he was alone with that burden.

It broke my heart.

I asked him if he would allow me and my friends to clean and organize his home. He was excited at the idea. As a group, we spent countless hours opening the boxes and sorting everything. Cleaning every square inch of that place, every wall and every floor board, every window and cupboard. The place was spotless and we didn’t even really have to get rid of anything. We were able to arrange all of the personal family heirlooms in a corner with rubbermaids. The apartment was spotless and tidy. We were so proud.

Upon his return, he was grateful. He was an entirely different person. He had a glow about him and you could tell, something meaningful had happened to him. I think he felt accepted and cared about for the first time in a very long time.

Then, in the middle of the night, came a knock on my door. I opened it and there stood Gary’s best friend. Gary was dead. He had collapsed at the front entrance to his apartment building, double pneumonia and lung infection. The paramedics and doctors believed his condition was due to the previous living conditions within the apartment.

I spent the next few hours calling my friends and letting everyone know what had happened. I woke a lot of people up and had very hard conversations with each of them. 

Remember the story at the beginning of this blog? Whether to wake someone up or not? I did not wake up my roommate. Having  JUST had that conversation, I knew she had taken the side of, “letting them sleep.” So that’s exactly what I did. I decided I’d tell her in the morning.

She read about it on Facebook, from a mutual acquaintance’s post, before coming up for breakfast. I now have a different view on that belief entirely. Wake them up.

I did my best to stay involved in the process of taking care of Gary’s estate. His closest next of kin was an elderly lady in Denmark, who did not speak English. This was before the years of Google Translate, so it made it difficult to communicate but we patched it together through emails. Gary’s landlord allowed me access to his apartment to collect personal belongings and family heirlooms but anything else was to be left behind for them to salvage or dispose of. I helped the landlord and the maintenance worker sort everything, including collectible coins from his parents estate. I went through every single room and made boxes to be shipped to the proper relatives. I packed up my Ranger, organized everything so it was sorted, and left with a truck full of items all of which took years to get into the right hands. I copied his hard drive, cleaned his personal files and data off of his devices, and found all of his documents. I then scanned ALL of his family’s photo albums and digitally sent them to his next of kin overseas.

I also planned his funeral and was the master of ceremonies for a service in the park surrounded by his friends.

This was my introduction into this condition. I had no clue what hoarding behaviors truly were. I had no idea the depth of emotion, the complexity of traumas associated with each case, and the diversity of each person affected. In my experience, no two cases have been the same. Yes, they often share similar symptoms but the REASONS are completely subjective, often involving trauma, despair, and heavy emotions.

As a person in recovery and who participates in various therapies with psychologists, therapists, and other professional and non-professional mental health supports, I understand that feeling. I understand the feeling of being completely overwhelmed, feeling beyond hope. I heard it described by a 12 Stepper once; their Big Book calls it “incomprehensible demoralization” and I identified with that heavily. In my own wellness journey, I lived in a “rock bottom,” of sorts. It felt like a deep pit that I could never escape from. I visualize it like a derelict water well with walls made entirely of quicksand with nothing but a dot of light above you to look into.

Now though, after all I’ve been through as a person, I can look back and see how far I’ve come. I cleaned another 45 hoarding homes after my first introduction to it. And that was before deciding to start my own company to try and do something about it so there’s lots to still tell. I hope you are along this journey with me and I hope that, together, we can get to the bottom of it all. Let’s make room for some healing in our lives and clear the path for others to follow.

There’s lots to do and lots to learn and I’m here to help. Ready when you are.