So Not Ok

H A V E    M E R C Y !

See-through house. (Sorry, P...you were just in the shot)

It has been 8 months since we've been home. Yes, 8. It's been 8 months since I got the phone call that would send me speeding home, all adrenaline and nerves. It's been 8 months since we stood huddled together in our driveway, firetruck lights illuminating our yard in eerie red and blue. It's been 8 months since our friends, neighbors, and family members gathered around us and held us tight and prayed for us and offered words of comfort.

They told us that we were ok. Heck, we told ourselves we were ok. As I settled down into a  hotel bed at 8:00 am the next morning, a separate bed from my husband, my children split up into various rooms far down the hall and my dogs, still sick from smoke inhalation and heat exhaustion, with extended family, I understood something deep in my soul. I was not, ok. True, I had not admitted it to myself yet. But I knew it. I kept up a mantra to my children- "we are ok, we are all ok, we are going to get through this." But, deep in my soul, I knew. We were not ok. 

I promised to keep it real here, and this is the real. I'm not ok. I am traumatized. The terror in my daughter's voice when she called to say "come home now Mom! The house is burning!" will be forever etched into my memory. Forever. The fear I felt trying to drive home to my family, not knowing what I would find when I arrived, is forever embedded in my soul. The complete emptiness and helplessness I felt laying down in a hotel with nothing but what I had with me when I had left home to go to work that evening...it has taken a toll on me. I am exhausted still. I have realized that I have little memory of things going on in my life in early September. I cannot remember what classes I was attending at college. I can hardly remember some of the details of my own home. 

I am not ok. I am alive. I am grateful. I am putting one foot in front of the other. I smile. I laugh. We all do. But we are not ok. 

I have hope. I hope, sincerely, that when we move home...when we can no longer see through the walls of our home...that we will feel ok. But, I don't know. Perhaps we are forever changed. We'll see. 

I do know that today,  I personally, Limitless Lisa, have just about reached my limit. I want to go home. 

But, this...is not a home.

Not a welcoming entry. 

And this...is not a window.

Not a good view. 

And this...is not a bay window.

Also not a good view.

And this...is not my bedroom.

Not how I pictured my bedroom. 

Not yet. I know it will be soon. Hopefully before the end of July, because that is when the insurance company will stop paying our rent for our temporary home.

Excuse me now while I try to find my 'ok'. I know I've got it here somewhere. Maybe the fire restoration company took it and tried to clean it.  

  

Some Folks Will Do Anything to Get Out of Work

When I started writing this blog, I had two goals in mind.

One, was to offer a window seat to those who were interested in following our 3 month 6 month 8 month really long journey.  The other was to create a photo journal for our family of our journey to help document the process. The blog has taken a life of its own and it seems to be different things to different people – a comedic monologue, the basis for a book, a voyeuristic peek, a vehicle for lending support- and that’s okay.  I’m glad people can laugh with us.  It is no fun to laugh all by yourself. ‘Cause then folks think you’re crazy. 

So, some weeks you get a window to our progress. Some weeks you get a photo journal.  Progress halted this week because the insurance company is harboring our building funds. Argh! And one of the few subcontractors we had still on the job this week took a short vacation in the county jail. Aye yi yi. Some people will do anything to get out of work.

So, with no serious progress to document…you get a photo journal this week.

Enjoy! Here’s a peek at our last 7 days:

Little Bean took a swing at Rough Stuff and landed her palm on a pair of scissors instead. She left quarter-sized drops of blood through the house like a macabre Hansel and Gretel scene. She screeched (and I mean that in the most sincere use of the word) and hyperventilated. Rough Stuff screamed out in uncontrollable fear. The Middle Child hid in another room, hands over her eyes, bawling. It was all quite dramatic. We escaped the urgent care with only an 'irrigation' and some band-aids. No stitches due to the location of the wound. Yay!

Little Bean and her Red Cross bear.

The Boy got hit in the face while sparring with pool noodles at a graduation party and took a good cut under his eye.  Sparring. That means they were intentionally beating the snot out of each other. With foam noodles. Wrapped in duct tape. He spent a few hours with an ice pack, has a minor black eye, and will have a nice little scar.

The Boy.

Rough Stuff, I kid you not, decided to see what it would be like if we got in a car wreck while she had her feet up in the seat, so she slammed her own knee into her nose. (I tell them not to ride with their feet up in case we have a wreck.) Honest. For reals. I could not make this crap up.

Rough Stuff. Enough said. 

Are you seeing a theme here?

Sheesh.