Good gods. That is so many billion times worse than the U-haul-that-killed-the-Fiesta nightmare move of my sweetie's (that's how it started -- new landlord's son met them at the end of a 12-hour drive with ALL THE THINGS and said, "you have cats? Oh, sorry, we don't allow cats.")

I'm glad you're all okay. Mostly. I hope you can heal up from the rear ending. Your poor neck.