We have been advised to Hepa clean and/or dispose of all porous belongings in our entire downstairs. It either has to be washed or it has to go. Gone. All of it. Brett had his entire life's treasures in boxes in that room. All of our books still unpacked, with no where to go, in those rooms. My son's Rokenbok building set it took three years worth of Birthdays and Christmases and Ebay auction bids to establish. I can't imagine what it's like to have a fire and lose everything. I've only lost part of the downstairs. It not the stuff it's what it means.
I am right now trying to contain my frustration and anger that people would actually leave a situation like this to fester and harm other people. What if we had put the kid's rooms down there? We had planned it that way. What if?
My Mother in Law slept down there and so did my sister and her newborn baby. The baby she was not supposed to have because she was told she couldn't conceive. The one that cost her tens of thousands of dollars to create. Like babies aren't priceless enough. Like people don't already think their babies are a miracle. And some careless thoughtless heartless people just decided that they just wouldn't care about this stupid house and it's problems and would dump it and make it someone else's problem. In America that's called a law suit.