Aftermath: 2 Weeks Later

We have survived for 2 weeks.


We will survive for 2 more.


Keep repeating until I believe it.


This is my life. Almost exactly 2 weeks ago to the moment our lives literally went down in flames.


To believe that we have survived these last 2 weeks is a testament to grace, hope, love, and care. 2 weeks ago at this moment I was not sure I would make it to the next day.


I keep waking up, again and again, to a new day. Things haven't gotten easier. The knotted stomach is still a present and daily force. The raw emotion and also the numbness are ever present. The loneliness continues to be palpable. The pain is still harsh and real. The desire to flee is still high even though my cognitive self knows that fleeing will not solve the problem. I still wince and almost scream when I smell smoke in any situation, anywhere. 


There is good and there is bad.


There is life and there is grief.


There is hope and there is heartache.


Some moments feel like trudging; I force myself to continue through the day. I force myself to smile and laugh when things are funny. I force myself to get dressed, take a shower, brush my teeth, breathe in and out.


Other moments feel like freedom; I realize that we can choose how we want our lives to look and be, in a much different way than before. There are people who love us. We are taken care of. No one judges me when I cry in public or when I eat pizza or when I drink another glass of wine.


Sidenote: I COMPLETELY understand how people become drunkards.


Another sidenote: Do not worry. I am not becoming a drunkard. I am drinking, but not drunken. I'm just saying I get it. Totally get it.


The inventory is a painstakingly awful process. To realize the monetary value of our things. To realize how some things were worth so much more than their monetary value. 


To remember, again and again, the beautiful life that we had created.


Because it was a beautiful life. Our home was bright and cheery. There was love and peace to be found there. There was laughter, tears, and joy. There was a kitchen waiting to churn out glorious healthy foods of every type and color. There was a warm bed with cozy blankets. There was handmade beauty all around. There were pieces of the sea, pieces of the land, pieces of us.


Someday, it will be a beautiful life again, but it will never be the same life.


Life is officially split into pre and post fire. There is no going back, no turning around, no way to erase.


There is only post-fire life now. 


We are alright. We are trying to be honest, though, and the truth is that we are in heaps of pain and loss. We are grieving. We are numb. We are depressed. The list goes on.


At the end of the day, though, we will survive.


2 weeks ago I did not know this, but now I do. We will survive. We will love one another. We will make it to the other side of this mountain. 


Together we will stay.