Its Okay If you’re Confused: We are Here for you Deb..and.. Counting Blessings...1 and 2 (Eluid and Emile)

What to say

About

What to call it

Destruction

Devastation

Denial

A lot of d words

But also

Survival

Strength

Perseverance

Spring flowers flowing streams ice cold to numb your toes as they are dipped in then your legs up to your knees cold blue numbness feeling better than the alternative which is nothing or more than nothing but nothing being the choice between what could be worse

Skipping rocks, flat round, oblong shaped black shiny smoothe rocks from the water forever rushing over them smoothing their surface, rocks skipping farther and farther, then farthest trying to skip rocks like time, skipping to next week, and then next month, then next year, like at a carnival if you hit with the mallet hard enough it rings the bell, like that but with synergy, as it will be, a whole lot of energy, hard to keep still when there is nothing that can be done, nothing to sift through, your life has been reduced to shards, and shingles, gray and white wet rotted paper bits, slivers of glass, rained on ashes, hanging electrical wires, and just that same gray rotted paper which was ashes until the rain came, rain much needed but not for this, this reduction of life, even though life is to be thankful for, but life in the future, not now, in this rubble, pretty word, rubble is. So concise. Short. To the point and pointless. Skip skip skip rocks, skip skip skip time, if it could, I would, and put her in a bubble, the white light kind, a bubble to ease the pain and keep it at bay, a bubble so strong nothing can penetrate it, not the scene before her, not the pain that comes with it, the bubble would keep out the boogie man, and keep in the happy soul, restore the spirit, bring back the green and living things, not the black, gray, ugly mess before her. Masks on. Blue rubber gloves. Shovels. Piles here and there. A see through Couch. Hanging lights dangling from the ceiling. Melted keyboards. The ceiling fan on the floor. The door with its icicles made from melted foam board, or whatever doors are made of. Not wood those. A roofless room. All of them roofless. How to make it go away. Not with our shovels, not with our kind words, not with our questions, of what are you looking for. What can we find in here. Is there somewhere we can look. Something to sift through. Where can we find your life, some memento to bring back what was never there, still not. Your great aunt’s hat pin. Your Dad’s metal detector finds, bits of nothing but something that still held them close to you. The crocheted hat. What to do now. Work. Wait. Call. Wait. How to move forward. our shovels are no match for that. They could’ve been matchsticks, or q-tips, or little toy sand shovels, nothing could take that mess away. There is no word for the mess. Just the words above. Destruction, like I’ve never seen. A third world country after a bomb went off and then rained inside. Flies rooting inside making homes and little baby larvae, and lots of mold, the smell something hard to get out of your head, several showers with your face and chin held up so that the back of your head hits your neck with the spray of the water raining down into the grooves of your closed eyes, and into your nose, swishing with it in your mouth to spit it out, raining down water, much needed shower. What to do now. What to do. Moving slowly very fast. Staying in one place. The place you need to stay away from. It’s not your home anymore. It never was and you never wanted it to be. But its more so now, a wreckage. You can salvage your life, but not in there. That’s where hell is. Or Purgatory. Two blessings, actually threee counting yourself Deb. You, Emile, and Eluid. And your health, which will continue to get better but you can't keep going back. You've already got COPD and there's mold in there. You were told that it was killing you. So in a way the fire saved you. Too much to roll around in your mind right now. too much to comprehend, digest, dissolve. Let it be. Let it Be. Let it BE. and continue to live and be thankful. I guess. I guess that's what you do when faced with something like this. a house fire. it sounds so tame. a house fire. the pictures speak better than my words do. I love you Deb. And we are all here for you. What can we do? Give a *HUG*. make a joke, try for laughter. Anything that heals you. touch. Kind words. Empathy. A cold beverage. Nearness. Anything clean. Healthy. We are here for you. And You are not alone.