Borders on hoarder. My mother ended in a packed house (it wasn’t like the tv ones) but it was distressing to me (I am a neatnik) and anyone visiting, to the point where few would attempt to do.   It is mental illness, and requires patience, compassion, disconnection from attachment to outcomes.  It never improves (I organized the house for her many, many times).   Love is a choice; people are work. I had to embrace the chaos, accept that it wasn’t my fault, and move on, so that I be there for her.