The atrocity of the Connecticut shooting leaves only psychopaths unable to feel sympathy and empathy, and has yet served to spur people to remember what is important in life. Didn't need the school bulletin or the news media to tell me to hug my kids, or let them know I love them. That's a daily habit in this household, for each member in this home! We've had a colorful enough life that we know all too well how abruptly it can come to an end, and you may never get that "last good-bye," so why wait until it's too late?
I'm unable to make an adequate update, as I am still working through our own dis-stresses of the past couple of months. The major one for me (Cedeham) is the 3-alarm fire that destroyed my valuables. Though the fire was last month, I am still sifting through the ashes, taking pictures, and having to file the insurance claim and trying so hard to remember what all we had in that 10-foot by 10-foot area (volume-wise I had some of it stacked 5 feet high and nothing was shorter than 3 feet high; I'm not a math person, but even I know that's a heck-of-a-lot). I'm having to put a dollar amount to heirlooms that were my great-grandmothers (such as a cup from c. 1860), a price on things I inherited, and replacement costs for all of it-- each item. This is taking a heavy mental toll on me.
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| Valuables. . . Reduced to Debris |
Through the ashes, however, I am trying to see the light. Instead of the pouring rain of Nov 16th, the afternoon following the fire, I try to remember the kindness of the stranger-- "Tall Man"-- who rescued for me one item that was still intact that he found while placing a tarp over the 10' x 10' area. Then later, 26 Nov, when Hubby & I were finally escorted to the twisted and scorched metal and soaked ashes and debris of what had been our storage unit, the maintenance men (and woman) who picked through the blackened stuff when I pointed to something (we weren't allowed 'in' the storage unit because of "safety reasons"). The return of "Tall Man," and his extreme kindness in offering to stay after hours (the rest of the maint. crew were clocking out and going home after a 12-hour day), pitchfork in hand, to sift through every inch of the remains if I so desired, asking me three times if I was sure I didn't want him to continue. I do wish I had taken him up on his offer, as the other maintenance personnel merely sorted through mostly the top portion, and the few items that were salvaged (but not necessarily useable) were from at least 3 inches from the top of the debris!
I focus on how I haven't had to "pretend" everything was okay while getting groceries, that I could just shake my head to the "How are you today?" and say, "the fire," and because it was a rather large local event, people just nodded and said, "I'm sorry." I'm grateful for one of the local antique dealers who took the time to not only chat with me one day last week (a really rather rotten day, and I hadn't even been able to follow through on her previous instructions for preparation), but took the time yesterday evening to price out the former valuables so that I can properly file my insurance claim.
I remember the couple of times I've stopped in the office of one of the contractors & the office manager kindly listened to me chat, not only about a job I want done (through them), but also letting me vent about a certain & recent "water works" issue and other miscellanea which in turned allowed me another day of partial functioning. His patience and ease with some jokes helped me to remember there can be "laughter while the heart may be in pain."
I smile at the thought of the chats with some of the ladies in town-- my hair dresser & workers at the craft store where I've been going to soothe my wounds by "molesting" the yarns and talking of yarn hobbies. Of course, I also twinge a bit, as at the same time I'm reminded of the huge yarn stash that had been in the storage unit, and as I confirmed today (20 Dec 2012), my entire knitting needles (some of which belonged to each of my grandmothers, each of whom has died) and the homemade carrying case is also gone. Yet, I can still snicker as I imagine the faces of the craft store folk as I caress the yarns and pick out more knitting needles (eventually).
I have displayed on our movie shelves a nice card Hubby got me shortly after the fire, when he finally saw how deeply and badly I was affected. I try to follow the strength my son has shown as he has had to work through the grieving of losing his friend to an accidental death.
Hubby and I have often talked about how catastrophes bring out a person's true nature, whether they be kind and generous or purely evil. But these natures aren't necessarily shown in one moment. It is revealed through the movement and process of getting through whatever it is, be it theft to tsunami to hurricane to school shooting to a fire.
What will be revealed about my nature as I come through the ashes of my many layered life? And what will my character teach my children?
~Cedeham~
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