Trauma
The hardest thing about a housefire is regaining stability. Our children are still (understandably) very upset by the whole thing, and Debbie and I are too. The trouble is, we have to do our utmost to present a front of normality, to reassure them that everything is alright and that we’re all fine. The trouble is, we’re not. Nightmares aren’t exclusive to children and us older types are a lot more aware of our own mortality and of how bad things could actually have been. The fact that they’re not that bad doesn’t really come into it. The knowledge that the same thing could happen at any time is a difficult thing to live with.
On top of what I guess is shock or trauma, is the repeated (daily) visits to our house, reminding us of what happened (as if we needed it). I’m trying to keep myself positive by keeping this diary and posting updated photos of how the work is progressing, but the bottom line is that our family house is a ruin and it was burning while we were in it. It’s a difficult thing to come to terms with and something that the vast majority of people I’ve spoken to just can’t understand. It wasn’t bricks, mortar, and posessions that went up – it was fourteen years of family life. The fire feels almost like a violation now, stalking our house like an animal or a burglar. When I think that everything is gone I’m not thinking about “irreplacable” things, like Tristan’s scan picture, Matthew’s 3 month old footprints, or even the space on the wall where we marked everyones height every three months. I’m talking about the love, investment and time that went into building a home. My guitar can be replaced by the insurance company, but it won’t be a guitar that I scrimped and saved for eight months to buy.
The hardest thing I’ve ever done was shovelling my childrens toys and books into a skip while an MPV full of people parked at the bottom of the drive and watched.
