I went to Westchester yesterday with my mom and sister to deal with 80 years of accumulation in an adorable tudor home that has seen better days.  It was our first visit, after the funeral. We needed to assess the scope of the problem (mouse turds in the basement/several tons of old clothes/important papers mixed in with garbage), marking items that we need for our own homes, and making plans for an estate sale. 

We filled up ten trash bags of the obvious garbage, so we could get a better look at the job ahead. Medical supplies, spools of thread that were stashed everywhere, phone directories. I made stacks of magazines that date back to the 50s. When my mom wasn't looking, I threw away all the tattered bibles that littered the place. 

Once the doilies were stacked in a pile and the boxes of rubber gloves were gone, we divorced ourselves from the grimness of our task and ruthlessly cleaned. 

Today, I'm still coughing up mold, animal poop, and dust, while I'm tackling my own cluttered basement.

My children will thank me later.