Elaboration

You never think it will happen to you. Maybe even practiced what to do--just in case. Doesn't matter. In the thick of catastrophe, adrenalin is what will pull you through. Even when I screamed after futile attempts to make a dent in the charred mass that my kitchen was becoming right before my eyes, I still fought. And finally won. With a price paid. At least I thought I had won. Guilt is a nasty creature. One that engulfed both Bro. Mo and I the day of and the days after. What if? Woulda-shoulda type mentalities that did no good to anyone.

I hear sirens going down the road.

And I am reminded.

I can't drink the water in the hotel room because it tastes like the fire/smoke. I can't tell which.

And I am reminded.

I can hardly type because of suffocating bandages.

And I am reminded.

I see the name of a dear friend I've not spoken to in years in a chat room who suffered the same fate.

And I am reminded.

I look around this confining space that is a hotel.

And I am reminded.

I woke up yesterday worrying--how am I going to locate my work uniform that I have to wear day after tomorrow when my ENTIRE house is boxed up and stored in a boxcar-sized bin outside my house?

And I am reminded.

I smell BBQ smoke while we patch together a birthday party.

And I am reminded.

I look at our dwindling bank account that would have had a nice nest-egg.

And I am reminded.

Going on is pointless. Not being able to voice my thoughts adequately is torture.

But, complain, I won't. Because out of tribulation come the blessings. And they were noticed in abundance the day of the accident. *A* does not like to hear her name in conjunction with the words "started" and "fire" and "hotel." I tell her I am not going to lie if I am asked what happened. She may never eat another donut again.

Then, today at church I was reminded how truly blessed we really are. When we hear stories of people who are much worse off than we are. A bishop and father of 8 is paralyzed from the chest down after a bicycle accident. A family's 2-year-old drowns. A returned missionary fresh from the field passes away.

Yet, there are so many parts of this that we didn't see coming. The stress, the mundane, the close quarters are eating us all alive and penetrating our sanity. But we learn to deal just like we always have. I have so many people to thank and hug and thank some more. And I love you all for being there for us.