There are moments in life that are pivotal, moments that for better or worse completely alter ones personality and way of thinking. Some of those moments happen to be life's way of reminding us that we are here temporarily, we merely rent life; life as we know it can be taken away in the blink of a cliched eye. Traumatic events have a time duality; seconds tick by slowly and I feel detatched as though it happened an eternity ago, yet at the same time it feels just like yesterday.
Tuesday night, April 15th, 2008 was a typical evening. My husband had taken my children to my daughter's school concert and put them to bed, I arrived home around 9:30pm after running by the grocery store after I got off of work. I did the typical ritual of dropping my purse on our garage stairs, had a couple of beers and ate the most delicious dinner he prepared for me while we hung out in the garage commiserating about our individual days. The wind was blowing strong outside and had been all day. I proceded to go into a monologue regarding our weather forecastors and the 'wind advisory' we'd been placed under. Whatever would we do without super duper nexrad supersleuth satelite forecasters? It's windy outside channel 10? No shit?! That was WIND that was blowing the trees half over and damn near knocked you off your feet when you step outside? THE HELL YOU SAY! *gasp* But thank you for interupting programming to let us know. We appreciate that. We went to bed around 1a.m. and little did I know at that time, the wind would have the last laugh.
Wednesday April 16th 2008 I was awoken at approximately 4:30 a.m. to the sound of my husband, in a tone I had never heard from him, shouting at me from the living room to call 911 and to get the kids out of the house. Groggily unaware of what was going on but knowing I had to act immediately, I bolted out of bed; the thick, heavy aroma of a combination sickly sweet yet pungent burned plastic, electrical wiring and faint campfire was being forced into my lungs; I could hear crackling and roaring and a heat that I cannot adequately describe. I began looking for clothes and for my phone; I looked down and my dog was staring up at me with her big brown eyes with an expression of "What the hell is going on?" I stopped what I was doing and ran out of my bedroom door.
I went to get my son out of his bedroom; he met me at the door looking bewildered and wrapped in his security blanket. I snatched him up and went back to my bedroom to get my phone so that I could call 911. The smoke was so thick, I couldn't think; I leaned down and grabbed whatever I could find off the floor, which just so happened to be the scrubs I'd shed nearly 4 hours before that still had my cell phone in the leg pocket. I dialed 911 and they told me to get out of the house and firetrucks were on the way. I don't know why I didn't wait to call until I got outside; there are many things like this I ponder, that if I could do it over again I would've done differently.
As I ran up the hallway, with my son in one arm, my clothes under the arm and my phone in my hand, the flames were coming into the entryway, the closet that housed my furnace and hotwater heater were being consumed and the flames were coming across the only exit I had. My dog was behind me, I could hear her collar; I ran through thinking she would follow me. Once I was outside, my husband and daughter were already out. I still had 911 on the line and told them we were all out and dispatch disconnected the call.
I put my son down and started getting dressed in my front yard; I looked around to assure myself that everyone was accounted for; my husband and I realized at the same time we never saw Shelby come out. Brad tried to go back in to get her, but the smoke and flames were shooting out the front door; we knew she was gone.
My neighbor came over to take care of the kids for us while my husband and I marveled at the sight of our home completely enveloped and glowing, hoping that shelby had gotten out and we just hadn't seen her or by some miracle she found someplace safe. I watched the firemen trying to battle the winds and put out the fire while simultaneously trying to avoid the power line that was dancing around in the back yard. The entire experience was very surreal and I'm likely missing details; it took less than 15 minutes for my entire house, a lifetime of artifacts, memories, 200 years worth of heirlooms and photographs and more importantly a much loved member of our family to be gone.
I think back often on those minutes, trying to get out and watching my world burn; the what ifs are overwhelming. I am a very heavy sleeper; the only thing that woke me up was my husband's voice. While we stood in the yard he explained he heard glass break and thought perhaps the wind had knocked a tree limb through the window. He threw on his pants and walked out into the living room in time to see the fire break through the windows turning the livingroom into a jet engine. Somewhere in those moments he was burned; his hair singed, his right eyebrow all but gone. My daughter got herself out of the house; she heard her dad yelling for her and hit the deck and army crawled her way out just as the fire department had shown the kids to do at school. My son's hair was singed on the right side of his head; I suffered no singed hair but managed to get a first degree burn to my right ear.
Watching the house get torn down was almost as traumatic as the fire; in many ways it's like a death and going to the lot that used to be my house is like visiting a grave. It's amazes me how my family's life was reduced to a spectator sport; 17 minutes and nine dumptrucks was all it took to wipe away any evidence that our house, our life in memoirs ever existed, like it never even mattered. I can still hear my china falling out of the cabinets at crashing to the floor as the CAT's bucket knocked into the kitchen wall. I can still see my son's smoke damaged and scorched crib bumpers that I'd so carefully packed away in a closet hanging off the teeth of the bucket and swaying in the wind that stole my house. While I am grateful we are all safe and alive, it is a sort of grief I cannot describe.
With an amazing amount of help from friends and the community, we are rebuilding our lives. The assistance we've received has been overwhelming. We are now in a new house and trying to get organized. Life has now been defined as pre fire and post fire; postfire has been like trying to juggle while riding a unicycle across a tight rope that lacks in tension. We're both amazed and very appreciative of all of the effort and assistance people have given us; thank you is the understatement of the century in this circumstance.
Life is a continued challenge of learning and of reevaluation of priorities. Life has once again reminded me that we are all mortal; life can easily be a foreclosure property at the drop of a hat, a blink of an eye, a lick of a flame. Life is temporary; we rent it. So, as the adage goes, work like you don't need the money, love as though you've never been hurt and dance like no one is watching. Life is a lion fight; even if you lose, everyone still heard you roar.
Before the fire:
The day after the fire:
Video tour, turn the speakers up so you can hear:
http://s40.photobucket.com/albums/e210/caduceusnurse/housefire/?action=view¤t=100_1783.flv
one week:
