After reading the comment below, I feel like I need to write about how moving home does not mean that the world is right again. I'm not sure if it was meant to be rude, but it seemed like it to me (and my husband and our nanny).
My neighbor and I have talked a lot about how people expect us to be fine now that we are home, expect us to have closed the book on the fire and be moving on. I'm sure that seems rational. But it just isn't the case. Healing from any trauma takes time. I still see smoke and need to know exactly where it is coming from. If I hear fire engines on Amity, I turn on the news. I sometimes drive back to the house to check and make sure the oven is off. My heart races when the smoke alarms go off from plugging in the vacuum (something happened with the wiring in one of the rooms).
I don't know where toilet paper is. I'm sure it's in a box somewhere. But for right now, our bathroom downstairs is out. I will go to reach for something and realize that the thing I want was in the old house not the new one. I go to the store everyday. EVERYDAY. I need note cards. Or I need tylenol. Or I need rice. Basic things that you stock up on, you don't have anymore. And when those things are the basis for cooking or pain management, it does get frustrating to have to replace them (especially if I just went to the store an hour ago). I'm sure that shopping all the time seems great, but it is exhausting. And sometimes it's emotional.
I make no apologies for feeling this way. I know that many people cannot understand this experience. This is my way to share my experience. And I would expect a little more compassion than a "Seriously?" comment would imply. Yes, this is how I feel... seriously.