Right Now

I just spent quite a bit of time writing a blog post with some pictures and information about our lives right now. It was alright, but I just deleted it instead.

I am struggling. The struggle isn't awful or overwhelming. There are moments each week when it is, but typically I am able to get things done and go about my day. 

This week I found the newspapers from Homer with articles about the fire. I found the burned up photos, one of the only things we could save. They still stink. The smell of house fire is unlike any other smell. The smell is not any sort of normal fire smell. I almost vomited when I found the pictures from the smell. I gagged and had to leave the room.

This week I found out that so far, the information cannot be gotten off of our computer. To even potentially get the information would cost lots of money and I just don't know what to do.

Trauma is not something to scoff at. Trauma is not something a person can immediately bounce back from. Trauma and the grief that comes afterward are not small things, they are big things. Our health insurance doesn't cover counseling and I don't have the money for private pay. It is a catch 22 sort of situation.

Everyone deals with trauma differently. No one person experiences things the same way. In this country we tend to shy away from trauma. Trauma is scary. Getting too close is nerve wracking. 

Trauma in people close to us proves that it could happen to us too. What happened to us could really happen to anyone, and that is really disconcerting and scary. Like scream-out-loud-change-how-you-live scary.

Sometimes things just stink. Having your apartment burn down is really, really shitty. There aren't nice words for it. You can't make it spin into a good thing. There are great things that have come out of it, in some ways, but it still isn't good at all. It never will be. Sometimes there aren't good reasons for things. They happen, we deal with it. This is the story of life.

Some people seem sick of hearing about it. This is a bad analogy, but I am trying desperately to help people understand what is really going on. I sort of feel like it is like people who have children. Children are great. I love children. But sometimes, when you are a new parent, your kids come up. If you have children, you talk about them. Having children is an all consuming life event. It is a wonderful life event, but it changes everything. The fire is like this. An all consuming life event that has changed everything. 

The fire changed everything. Talking about it is the only way to deal with it. Knowing that people have forgotten or that people are shying away from talking about it or recognizing that people are avoiding your eyes because they don't know what to do is horrifying. Back to the analogy - people don't typically forget when great things happen, like having children. People also don't typically forget when someone dies. This fire is easy to forget because it is such a personal event and it happened so very far away from here. 

We have lots of beautiful new things, so it is simple to believe that all is well. Most of the time it is, but I still need to talk about the crappy fire because it is reality. 

So, if you have read to this point, please know this: we want you to ask about the fire, about how we are doing. Yes, it feels completely awkward. Yes, there is not a good way to bring it up. Yes, the whole thing is stinky and it brings up strong, strong emotions. But when you don't ask, it hurts. Even if you didn't forget, it feels like you did. So do the awkward thing because it opens up the door. It allows for me to be me - for me to be honest about what is going on right now. It allows me to not pretend - it allows me to talk about the pain.

Talking about the pain is necessary for healing. Talking brings hope. Talking brings acceptance. 

Ask what we miss most. Ask what our favorite new thing is. Ask what we need. Ask what we want. Ask how we are and be willing to listen to the answer. Ask about Alaska, about Kennan's job, about our house. 

Trauma is negative, there is no getting around it. Being there for people is really hard, there is no getting around it. I look at my past - I recognize the places where I haven't been there for people - and it really bothers me now. It bothers me so much more now, because I'm on the other side of things and I am now someone who knows. I have passed this invisible line into the realm of those who have dealt with some of the most stressful situations that there are in this world.

I'm not going to link this post on facebook. I am really tired of feeling judged for telling the truth. We really are doing quite well, but sometimes I think people need to know what you need. People need to know how to help. I love it when people tell me how to help them because it gives a concrete something to my hands and my heart. Please keep praying for us. The journey is actually more and less difficult the farther we get away from the fire. Some things are much easier now but some things are much harder than they were.

Fire. Fire can do so much damage and so much good. Fire can be horrific and fire can be beautiful. Fire can warm cold hands and burn away entire lives. So very quickly, fire can consume. I look back and I am astonished at how quickly everything changed. I am also astonished at how quickly everything has changed back. 

The roller-coaster of life after trauma. You get what you get. Thanks for coming along on the scary, gut dropping ride. I sincerely believe and hope with all of my self that when I get off this roller-coaster I will smile because I made it to the end. Maybe I will even be able, in a few months, to throw my hands in the air and smile down a scary slope. We shall see.