People keep telling me that I’m so lucky that it wasn’t worse, that I’m so strong and capable to manage and handle all this on my own.

Every second of every day, I realize how close I was to losing every single thing. There’s really no telling how long that insulation was smoldering – it burned the wiring for the hard-wired smoke detector out, so it could have been burning even when I slept.

If I had lost my dog, I would have been devastated.

I try not to think about it too much or I will freak out, and keep on freaking out, just because I can.

I’m not really managing or handling anything so much as I’m like a rock in the river and the water is washing over me.

There are things that have to be done, and I don’t have a lot of control over any of it, I just do it. I did call the electrician and hire him, but after the insurance adjustor came, it all got away from me.

There’s a lockbox on my front door with a key in it, and all day, every day, people are in and out doing God only knows what to put it all back like it was.

Friday it was Barron and whatever-his-name was doing the surprise ceiling removal. Yesterday it was Manuel and Antonio come to get the air scrubbers; over the weekend, they were in and out every 4-6 hours fiddling with the machines. Today it was some project manager named Brian checking it all out and giving me a timeline.

I’ve stashed my valuables as best I can. My clothes, formerly orderly in the closet, are all piled on the guest bed, and my shoes are in a pile on the floor. Every day I go and pick something from the pile to wear.

I don’t know who’s coming tomorrow, but presumably they will start patching the ceiling and sanding it, and then some more, different, people will come and do the finish work next week. Between all that, Jeremy and Greg, who I do know, will come and put the insulation in.

I am not accustomed to such a lack of control. Every single day since this has started, I have set the alarm and told the dog “see you in a little bit, puppy,” and left, only to have to drive around the block and turn the alarm off for whoever might be letting themselves in later.

My friend Lori says that “all things work together for good.” There is a larger lesson in this, even though I don’t know what it is yet. Maybe it’s too teach me to be even more patient than I already am.

I am incredibly grateful that it wasn’t worse than it was.  I am incredibly grateful that I have the resources and good sense to keep plodding along.