Wednesday, February 13, 2013

2/5 Things Lost

Every day I see another reminder of things that we lost; of things that are gone.  Yes, I know that these are just things and that most of them can be replaced.  However replacing them is a daunting task, and I haven't even really begun to thing about it yet.

With each realization of things lost, from bath scrubbies to microwaves, to toys to movies to furniture, from clothing to cookware to scrapbooks (which had hours and hours and loving work poured into them) each one is like a new stab in the heart.  It makes everything new and real again.  It bursts my bubble of comfort, and it leaves me careening helplessly out of control.  I am lucky that it's usually a short plummet as my family and friends are there at just the right moment, and they catch me, but the jolt of it is still searing.

I feel horribly guilty about this fire.  I feel guilty that I cannot protect my children from the grief they feel over it.  In a matter of minutes, their lives were shattered and they'll never be the same again.  We can rebuild.  We can re-buy, but things will never again be the same.

And perhaps I should think of that with joy.  Afterall, how many people get to re do EVERYTHING (material) all over again?...  But then again, we have to do EVERYTHING all over again.

...And for someone who gets overwhlemed just looking at some small replacement items, EVERYTHING is a lot.


dannyscotland said...

Believe it or not, I think about you and your family all the time. Today, I was thinking what would it be like if that happened to us. And I was looking at my little girl's collection of Disney Cars, thinking, most of those I can't replace easily or at all. I know they're just toys, but they are so special to her. I was thinking about my own childhood stuffed animal, on a shelf upstairs, that I would never have a chance to rescue and that, as a child, I swore I would go into a burning building to get. I know I don't know one millionth of what you are feeling, but I do think of you and I just ache for how hard this is for you and your family. I can imagine tiny bits of it, but not the whole, encompassing everything of it. All I know to say is I'm so sorry. I wish I could do more, or say more to help, and I know I can't, but maybe there is some small speck of comfort in knowing that strangers are out there thinking about you and hoping for things to get better or at least just a little better each day.

Bloggie McBlogger said...

I think that The Hubs *may* have been able to pull out two of my childhood toys (My Mr. Sandman Pillow Person and my Camel with the Wrinkled Knees from Raggity Ann and Andy), but Mr. Sandman was past threadbare before. I don't know if he'll actually be able to be saved at all. I didn't really inspect Camel, but was happy just to see them.

And thank-you so much for all of your kind words always. They really are a comfort, and I do really appreciate it more than you'll ever know. <3