Thankfully, it doesn’t sound like anyone was hurt, although we haven’t yet been able to contact the neighbors we grew up with. They’re not answering their cells, but I figure either they left the house without them, or they just haven’t had time to charge them. Or they just need space to assimilate all this. I feel terrible for them; they’ve lived in that house almost 20 years, raised their kids there, and even though no one was hurt, I have no idea what they lost: photos, keepsakes… *sigh*
For myself, I took photos of everything that was important to me when we moved, knowing I’d never be able to knock on a stranger’s door and say, “Hi, I used to live here. Mind if I look around?” But there’s something sad, something that shakes my worldview a bit, knowing that it’s all gone–the first tree I ever learned to climb, the blobs of paint that looked like elephants, the spyhole in the staircase, our attic kingdom of Utopia–all gone. I feel unmoored.