I had the usual nightmare that night; father hanging, orange mist.
The next morning Mom was on the phone talking to the insurance company asking how long it would take for her to get the money to start repairs from the fire damage. It confused me that she was so worried about this but couldn't even start planning my father's funeral. I mean, don't bodies get gross after a while and start decomposing? We should probably get him in the ground before that happens.
I mean, I understood her pain and that we all grieved in different ways, but still, most people still bury the body. Even if it is painful.
We spent the rest of our weekend sifting through the damaged parts of our house for things that were still okay or salvageable. Everything that was too burned to be saved we threw out. Sarah had triple counted her stuffed animals and everyone was fine, no one was missing, so at least we didn't have that to deal with.
Nothing really important had been lost in the fire. Most of our valuables were upstairs, but it was still upsetting to see all the ash that used to be our belongings.
That night, the dream got worse. After the mist started talking to me again, my father burst into flames and I had to watch his body turn to ash like the things that had been in the fire.