I’m out on my porch, going through things.
Things that were pulled from my apartment by the cleanup crew after the fire.
It’s been almost 8 months since my apartment burned down and I’m just now going through some of the things. I’m throwing most of it out, though. If I’d gone through it earlier, I might have been able to save some of it.
Most of it got wet from the rain the day of the fire, the fire sprinkler, and the DAYS of rain that followed the fire.
Yet, things were brought to me. And I stored them away. Yes, I went through boxes and bags for DAYS, seeing what I could save and what I had to throw out. And I’m grateful for the friends that helped me during that time.
But I couldn’t do it all. So I stuck some of it in my new storage unit by my new apartment.
Now it’s almost 8 months later.
My apartment called me today because I still have my things in my storage unit over by my old apartment. They said there’s no rush, just to let them know when it’s empty. So I decided today was the day.
I went down to my new storage unit and opened it up. Inside were 3 bags and 1 laundry basket of things from my old apartment. I moved them to my porch and swept out and bleached that little room so I could move things in there.
I’m now on my porch going through things. Things that were wet from the fire, covered in ash, and now have mold. Those things are being thrown out today. If I’d cleaned them off and gone through them earlier, I might have been able to save them. I’ve been able to clean and save a few things from today, but not much.
Yes, they are “just things” – but they’re my things.
Now my trash.
Throwing away memories and THINGS.
I took pictures of some things so I don’t eventually forget them completely.
It’s now time to move things from my old storage unit to my new one. Those are things that were untouched my my apartment fire. They were in storage, and I am forever grateful for that.
As I sit on my porch of my 3rd floor apartment in a cute red chair that a dear human bestowed upon me, I am watching a girl carry things. She’s got a trunk full of things and is carrying them up to her apartment. A box, a sombrero, a skateboard – ya know, things.
And I’m grateful for things.
Things that remind us of love. And of despair. Things that make us smile. And make us cry. Things.
After my fire, I was often told “at least you’re safe” and “I’m glad you weren’t hurt” and “things can be replaced” and “at least you get new things” – and that’s nice and well-meaning.
However, things aren’t just things. I miss my things.
Yes, I got a new toaster. New pots and pans. New flamingos, a new bed, new couch, new apartment.
But I still miss my things.