Early on in Lost Found Kept, a car accident leaves Deborah Derrickson Kossmann in charge of her aging but independent mother’s care, and she must return to her childhood home and the secrets she’s avoided for most of her adult life. With the support of her husband, Kossmann steps inside after thirty years and bears witness to her mother’s hoarding disorder: 

 It’s like we’ve landed on another planet. There’s dirt and cobwebs and something that looks like rust on the top of the fridge. I’m coughing and choking from the stench. We pause to try and take it all in. The sink is filled with dishes and the counters are completely covered with pans and glasses and vases. The stove is heaped with papers and plates and dirty clothing […]. There is an antique kitchen table that is still there, I think. But the stuff on the floor, which is at least three feet high, rises to cover it so there’s no demarcation between ground and furniture.  

Overwhelmed by the mess (although “mess” is too polite of a word to describe what Kossmann eventually encounters) and the realization that she should have intervened sooner, Kossmann is nonetheless determined to make things right. Instead of the week or two they originally anticipated, Kossmann and her husband Marc spend six exhausting weeks and three large dumpsters clearing out the home in what amounts to an incredible act of mercy and love. Chapters fluctuate between a narrative of Kossmann’s childhood years and the present-day excavation of her mother’s home, where Kossmann uncovers happy childhood mementos alongside memories of trauma. 

A compelling aspect of this story resides in the fact that Kossmann is a clinical psychologist who, in theory, should have understood the gravity of her mother’s hoarding disorder sooner. The guilt plagues her even as she grows in her understanding of the abuse her mother and two absentee father figures inflicted upon her. For instance, her mother’s hoarding tendencies started when Kossmann was in high school, with Kossmann assuming a parenting role for her younger sister and her own mother. She wonders, “Why did I always have to be the responsible person? The person who cleaned up.” Her mother’s hoarding escalated when, years later, her own mother died. Kossmann struggles to understand her mother’s behavior and doesn’t mince words expressing her feelings of anger, yet she’s intent on telling her story with even-handedness rather than as an unchecked judgment of her mother. Kossmann reveals psychological insights into her mother’s hoarding and illustrates her as a woman who is complex, intelligent, and book-loving—though also abrupt and unkind—who raised two daughters alone while working as a nurse.  

A delightful aspect of this book is the humor shared between Kossmann, her younger sister, and Marc. Her husband is portrayed as a gentle and steadfast partner who knows just what to say and do when Kossmann becomes emotionally or physically overwhelmed. Though the work of clearing out moldy belongings—and even human excrement—is likely as mentally challenging as it is physically, Kossmann and Marc find moments to crack jokes and bolster each other with an enviable, shared intimacy. 

I found the parts of the memoir that explore the duality of the mother-daughter relationship to be especially poignant. Likewise, I admired the incredible amount of restraint and patience that Kossmann displayed for her mother. She takes great care to validate her mother’s sense of loss. The middle section of the book contains photographs of the Hoarder House, as Kossmann begins to refer to it, alongside pictures of her mother as a young girl, glowing bride, and loving mom. The juxtaposition is startling and effective. Lost Found Kept is the embodiment of the idea that two things can be true at once: a daughter’s anger for her mother can be just as large as her love. Ultimately, Kossmann honors herself as the hurt child she once was while also becoming the compassionate woman the family needs in order to heal.