What's that smell?

It's time.
Let's talk about Henry.

Remember Henry?
He moved into Carl and Barb's house directly across the street.

He is a Hoarder. A REAL Hoarder. The kind that end up on the tv show.

Lately, the smell from Henry's garage has become so bad that we just can't take it anymore.
But who do I call? The health department?

One day, we were in the driveway and there was a particularly bad smell wafting over from Henry's open garage. It is always open, which is why we have so many stray cats now...they are surviving on mice from Henry's garage.
I am 100% serious.
Imagine the worst mess you have ever seen, then throw food and animal feces on it.
You are picturing the view from my kitchen window.

So anyway, the smell was so bad, that I was trying to talk to my parents in the driveway but I started dry heaving instead. Sick.


I lost it.
Between heaves, I was standing in the street, throwing my fists in the air, sweating and screaming at the pile of garbage, "Ugh, Henry! CLEAN your freaking nasty house! It's disgusting!"

"He's not in it."

huh? Oops. Henry was right behind me, walking up toward his house from a garage sale down the street. I probably should have been embarrassed at the time. Instead, I was sick. and MAD.

Henry was pulling a cart FULL of more crap that he'd bought at the garage sale! He asked if something was wrong.

Now or never, Meg.

"YES, something is wrong. Your house is messy and it smells bad. I don't like looking at your garbage all day and the smell makes me throw up."

Henry looked surprised, "is it a bad smell?"

"Uh, YES IT'S A BAD SMELL!!! It smells like rat urine and cats and rotting flesh and sewage and garbage! It's disgusting! Either clean your gross house or keep the garage door closed so we don't have to see it or smell it."

Then (like a coward) I turned around and walked away.

OK. I realize this was not my finest moment. Just so you don't think I am dead inside, you should know that the guilt of my horrible behavior did come and it hit like a bag of bricks, or a bag of garbage, if you will.

When we got home that night, Henry's garage door was closed.
It stayed closed the next day, and the next.
And the next.

It did not help that the lesson in Relief Society that Sunday was about loving your neighbors and bringing them closer to Christ. Of course it was.

Yeah. Remorse was slowly going to kill me. No one deserves to be spoken to like that. I wasn't even speaking, I was screaming, crying, and gagging. It was quite the tantrum. How UN-Christian of me. I know that I could have said something to him, but I didn't need to do it that way. I am so embarrassed. I think Aaron and my parents wanted to curl up in a ball and die after witnessing the show.

I needed to apologize.

But here's where my pride sneaks (read: marches) in.
I don't like to apologize. (I know, who does?)
I love being right and I hate admitting I've let my sharp tongue get the best of me. I've said a lot of stupid and offensive things to people (just humor me and act surprised, ok? I'm not feeling very proud of myself at the moment, so let's not go there), but never anything like this. I mean, I've apologize for being rude or snarky or whatever, but let me just tell you right now,

"I'm sorry I called you disgusting and screamed in your face" is not something I thought I would ever have to say.

I confess:
I found excuses and justified reasons to not apologize for 5 days.
Henry's garage did not open even once.

What if I broke him with my horrible words? Maybe he honestly has NO CLUE that he has a hoarding sickness and I was the one to bear the news? That has to be worse than hearing "you've got cancer" for a guy like Henry. I had to talk to him.

With Aaron's encouragement (he is so wise) I prayed for humility and courage to apologize. I might have prayed that it would be easy. I know that part isn't fair, but I did anyway. Just keepin it real for ya.

The next morning, I had an opportunity, and I knew it was time.
Reese and I heard the trash collector cruise past our house at 6:30am (why so early? They usually come at 2) We rushed outside to pull our cans to the curb and flag them down so they'd stop on their way back.

Henry's garage door opened.
I passed out.

Ok, not really, but you know how when you throw away a meat package or a really nasty diaper, and it sits in the metal trash can just cooking and festering and rotting in the heat of the sun day after day? Do you know how bad that trash can smells when you open the lid 5 days later? Bad. Real bad.

Sort of like how bad the smell that came from Henry's was when he opened the garage door for the first time in 5 days.

I held my breath, prayed for strength and a bridled tongue, and went over there and gave Henry a sincere, heartfelt apology. I really meant it. After a moment, he cut me off with a, "no worries" like it was water under the bridge.

To be that forgiving, I can't even imagine. If someone had offended me and MY home like that, I would have stewed over it to an unhealthy level and held a grudge for weeks. Not Henry. He was all smiles on trash day....which is ironic, because he never puts out any trash on trash day. His willingness to forgive made me feel even worse for how mean I had been!

Henry continued, "Next time, you just have to pat me on the back and say, 'hey buddy, you've got a smell!' Don't worry about it."

Oh the guilt! It was like I had kicked a puppy.

"Besides, I found the source of the smell."

Um, you burned your house down? I know the source, Henry. I'm standing in it.

Instead, I say, "you did? What's that?"

Henry proudly held up a gigantic black garbage back and I threw up in my mouth.
"60 lbs of rotten onions!"

Cue Janis from FRIENDS voice because oh. my. gosh.

My guilt left. My head exploded. I have learned pretty much nothing from this experience.

sixty. pounds.
60 pounds of onions! Rotten onions!
Who the crap buys 60 lbs of onions?! WHY did he have them? WHY did they rot? WHY does he live across the street? Why does he have no idea that he has an illness? WHY? WHY? Whyyyyyyyy?????


The following weekend, he brought his brother's truck home to unload into his house, full of stuff of course: several tool boxes, golf bags, a dining room table and a full set of chairs, one of those special assistance raised toilet seats on a stand with the bars, a cabinet, and TWO refrigerators.
And the garage remains open 24/7 again.

what am I supposed to be learning, here? Other than that it might be time to move, I mean.