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.