Friday. May, 11th
You try to tell people it's only things. Right? Like when someone wreaks their car you comfort them by saying it's only a car, as long as you aren't hurt, you can buy another. If their house burns down, you tell them they can replace it, as long as they are alive.
Well, my house... or should I say my parents house did burn down tonight. Blew every fucking window right out of the smoking skeleton. But I grew up there, all my childhood and adolescent memories and all their keepsakes where in that house. It's so easy to say that, until you have to pick through the still warm, charred remains of what used to be memories. I know it sounds petty, but one of the things I'll miss the most are going to be my majorette, dance, modeling and pageant pictures. It's not that I showed them to people often anymore, but I would have like to have shown my children someday.
But I guess I should back up. It's a strange thing to have every flaming family member call you at once, most in near hysterics. Your parents house is burning down. It's burning, over and over I got to hear that. They had to drag your parents out... and we have the dog. That was the only information I had. My childhood residence was up in flames, and no one knew for certain the condition of my parents. But goddamnit, the dog was safe. That's something right?
So off to the hospital me and the husband go, which is a 50 minute drive from here. I drove, go figure. My damn house, I drove. Just so you know, my dad is fine, petty bad smoke inhalation. My mom... not so lucky. Her left arm, shoulders and feet were burned. She's being flown to a burn center in Charlottesville, VA. So there isn't much else I can do but wait.
There's another experience, holding your mother's soot covered hands and head while she's sobbing I'm sorry over and over while her skin is literally peeling off. It rates right up there with getting my eyes gouged out. Heh, and what did I do? Tell her it was alright, things can be replaced, as long as they are alive. Now aren't I a hypocritical bastard?
I made it all evening without crying. Sucked it up and comforted my parents. Went to talk with relatives afterwards as we took what valuable things we could from the house before the vultures can try and pick through what's left of my memories tonight. I didn't cry when a looked at my deformed trophies it spent years and tons of hard work to earn, never shed a tear over my sculptures, that I made with my own two hands I might add, were found soot covered and ruined. I didn't even cry on the way down there... when I was terrified not knowing what was going on, and all I had to comfort me was my worried and worrisome family members. I even joked with the fire marshal and my family.
But when I got back here, a little soot covered, to my own cat, my own luxuries and tried to sleep, I sniffled. And couldn't stop. So here I am at 3am burdening you all with my troubles. And now if you read this in the morning, that little black cloud of mine is probably going to buzz your heads all day now. I am very sorry for writing this, and if it's cynical, well that's just the kind of person I am. I hope it doesn't depress anyone. I am more than able to fulfill that role right now. It's just, well... writing kind of helps me collect my thoughts, and puts my mind at ease. Not that there's much ease right now, but at least I got it out. At this point, I don't even know if I'm coherent enough for you to understand me.