I don't have fire dreams all the time anymore, which is why when I do have them, I wake up completely off, starting the day 100 yards behind where I expected to.
Dreams are a defining characteristic of PTSD as I've written before and have been the most difficult after-fire experience because I have no control over them and am really shaken when they happen.
In this morning's dream, we had been at an event to come home to our neighborhood gone. The strange thing about dreams is that sometimes the scenery is different (I don't always dream that the house that burns down is our old house. We often live in a different neighborhood or city in my dreams. But the outcome is always the same.) I was sitting in a pile of smoldering ash looking through my decimated home, when the fireman brought me the remnants of a hospital ID tag from my birth. I was crying. And crying.
And then I woke up for the day.