7 months ago we were victims of an apartment fire.
While we weren't burned out, we did endure a lot of soot and water damage. We were unable to return to living in the apartment and had to be moved by our complex into a new apartment.
We lost our kitty cat in the fire, as well.
There are so many facets to this event that are difficult, complicated, varied. We had to deal with this event on so many different levels. We are still dealing with this event on some.
This morning I finally had the desire, energy, and determination to wash the last of the dishes we had to pack up in a haste when we left the old apartment. There were about 6 pieces, all cast iron.
It took a long time because I knew that there would be a need for elbow grease, stamina, and time. I just didn't want to commit that.
I felt like I had committed so much to this event. I still understand that I have a long way to go in dealing with this.
I'm TERRIBLE when it comes to dealing with grief. I can identify it. I definitely know what it feels like and I know what it is to experience it.
But dealing? I don't. I shut down. I immediately pivot and look for someone or something that needs my support so that I don't have to consider my own issues.
And so they fester. I hide them, or refuse to acknowledge them, and just let them fester behind doors that I refuse to open. I'll walk past my grief a thousand times, knowing the damage I am doing and that the work when I have to confront this will be that much harder.
I doubt I'm an anomaly in this.
I understand that not putting in the effort all at once to get "back to normal" after the fire was a form of grief. An anti-action, not just an inaction. I understand that walking past those dishes each day, even when I stood right next to them and washed other dishes was a way of not dealing with what happened.
I am beginning to understand emotional and psychological survival. I am starting to see how sometimes our actions are born from trying to shut ourselves off emotionally from trauma. Sure, I helped move our stuff from our old apartment into this new one, and I unpacked what I could; shopped for new mattresses, supplies, food. When we got our dishes unpacked I soaked what we could in vinegar and helped scrub utensils.
But I never stopped working. I exhausted my body and mind so that I would be too tired to think about what was happening to us. I did not give myself time to accept that we would live for the first time without cats. We went without what we were used to for so long because we just didn't want to have to recap the whole event. We didn't always react so well when we were confronted with memories.
Washing and seasoning those last few pieces of cast iron is not a major event. It does mark a significant point, though - kind of an end to the beginning of a new era in our lives - the time after the fire.
The time after we left Sylvester in the apartment because we thought we'd be back, but we weren't and he died.
The time after we got completely derailed in our plans to buy a house and move toward opening our own businesses and would need to start again.
The time after we were doing so well with our finances, finally, after so long of living paycheck to paycheck.
But also a beginning. We can reevaluate. We can take a second look and do things better. What was working then might work even better a bit differently now. We may be tired but we can still try.
