Andrew and I were home when it started. Thankfully, our fire alarms were functional. When we moved in to our home, none of the alarms were functional. My husband is all about safety. I think because he has experienced tragedy in his life, he can grasp the concept of invincibility and loss better than those who have not. So, he doesn't play around with:. safety, seatbelts, fire alarms, helmets, making sure you know you are loved and cared for, and a terrific mindset of "we can get through this". It's a great balance (even though some might see it as overboard or see him as a worrier, he is neither). When the alarms sounded, we ran towards them. Eventually we opened a door and there it was, like an angry dragon. The fire swirled across the ceiling looking for a place to go. Fire is a beast; it is fearless, it jumps, it has no boundaries, it doesn't care about you - it only wants to survive. The fire quite literally, jumped into the room we were in and immediately caught the cabinets on fire. Andrew and I ducked as it came over our heads and we shut the door as best we could. I don't recall ever having felt such an intense amount of fear and despair. I remember screaming, "NO!" because what we saw was unbelievable and maybe I was wishing it away.
Andrew was sent to call 911 as I went for the fire extinguisher in the kitchen. I pulled the pin, checked that it was full, went back to the fire, aimed and squeezed. The result was a small puff of white. That was it. The gauge then read: EMPTY. I had no plan B. Plan A had failed, now what? I reconnected with Andrew (but not until after tripping and falling on the floor, hollering profanities about the extinguisher, and tossing the container aside). We reached for the front door, but for some reason we went back to the kitchen and started filling pots with water.
We decided to hang in there. There was no reasoning. We didn't talk about what we would do, we just "did". In hindsight, I can see that we must have subconsciously chosen fight as opposed to flight. I don't know why, I don't understand it. I have some regrets about this as I recall just how powerful fire is, how big it had gotten at that point, the heat, the smoke, my son. And when I remember this, this is the part where it gets difficult to gather my thoughts and feelings. I remember thinking that the situation could potentially be controlled and I also remember thinking that we would lose it all. Losing it all seemed like the greatest possibility.
At this point, the heat and fire were causing things in the cabinets and in the storage room (where the fire started) to explode. So we ducked and splashed. At some point, Andrew tossed not only water, but the glass bowl the water was in. "Mom! I broke your bowl, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he said. I love my son, he knows I love to use that bowl to make cookies for his brothers and him, but apology accepted a thousand times. He's a gentle kid, he has a great head on his shoulders - I am thankful he was with me, and at the same time, I would've liked to not have him in danger. My husband says that the most resilient people are also some of the happiest. When you experience life at it's worst, you find something in yourself that makes you stronger, thankful, and joyful. And, sometimes you learn something about yourself. So, maybe there's a silver lining...maybe.
Our small splashes weren't a challenge for this fire. It got to the point that we could not see, there was too much smoke and as we would find later, our hair and eyelashes were singed. When you are in smoke, your instinct is to brush it away from your eyes so you can see. This sort of smoke, doesn't swirl aside when you swat at it. The smoke is the air you have, which means there is no air to breathe. You can not see, you can not brush it away, you don't want to inhale it. The oxygen was gone and breathing and seeing became impossible. I thought of Andrew and his calm and how he was so brave and how I needed him more at that moment, but even more so in the years to come. We ended up leaving out a back door with the dogs. We exited and ran past the garden hose, then (ding!) ran back to the garden hose. It was by a stroke of luck that we passed it. Thank you, God. We turned it on, dragged it to the storage room double doors, opened the door and began to spray. When you open any doors, the oxygen you depend on for your sweet, dear life is also the oxygen that feeds the fire. The fire got bigger, but we sprayed and sprayed in that smoke. We could see the fire in the smoke glowing orange in the gray-brown haze. We managed to get the flames to disappear, but you could see that things were still burning and the heat was still incredible and this is when the firefighters arrive. From the discovery of the fire until this point, it was no more than 15 minutes and I am convinced that it was much less.
I can't say enough kind things about firefighters. They assessed us, the house, assessed us again, asked if our pets were out (they really would save your hamster, no life is too small for them). They will also spray the hell out of your house and apologize for having to destroy your drywall with an ax to make sure the fire is out. "Do whatever you have to do," was my response. They investigate the fire, they come back throughout the night to make sure your house is not lit up again, they make sure you have a place to stay, and they guide you through the process of recovering (call your insurance, air out the house, reassurance). I have not even mentioned that they walk into fire...fires much bigger than ours. I'm troubled by their amount of sacrifice and thankful for it.
So, here we are, together in a hotel. Our family has "rescued" us and the friends that are aware have pulled us through. We did not lose much, we did not lose anything we can not live without. We lost appliances, structures, little things that really seem unimportant. When all is said and done, the costs will be close to 100K. No, it wasn't small and things don't feel "back to normal" at all. But, we are together and still there isn't "any wind in my sails". I suppose this is a process. It feels a little overwhelming but, week by week, it feels a little more manageable.
I can't compare this to the permanence of others' unfortunate situations. No one died, no one is ill, no one is truly suffering and there have been so many seemingly bad things happening on this planet recently, that this...this we can do. Comparing one's grief to another's just doesn't seem right, though. I don't want to feel better because your suffering is greater. I don't want you to suffer at all. I am aware, also, that the processing of grief/discomfort/difficulties can vary greatly from person to person (I'm familiar with the stages of loss and grief, but still the time and passage through these stages is unique). Maybe the pain lies in having the simmering awareness that life can be too short, too difficult, and too fragile - come to a full boil. Maybe the pain is in that millisecond of fear when you open the door and see bad things (or receive bad news, or feel pain whether physical or emotional). I find myself squeezing my eyes shut and gritting my teeth when I think about opening the door and seeing fire. I don't want you to feel that, I don't want you to despair or your heart to plummet, but you will feel these one day (if you have not already...which would be rare). The discomfort is toe-to-toe with me. I don't need hard lessons to be grateful, I feel like I make a point of feeling grateful every day. I have, over the past few years, become a more grateful person and it has changed by chemistry. I feel it deep in my heart and my gut. But, truthfully, if this has done anything, it's made me just flat. Deflated. I don't do well without a sunny disposition, real or feigned. Fake it until you make it.
Some notes for you:
Get a bigger extinguisher. Those little kitchen extinguishers will put out a small blaze and that's about it. Anything larger, and you're going to be shit out of luck. Replace your extinguishers. If they are old, toss them.
Our alarms saved our house. Check your alarms, change the batteries. Put your alarms in non-living areas (garages, storage rooms).
Knowing where our home phone was saved our home. We have a cell phone and we had just started keeping it in the same spot. It had been moved in the past.
Firefighters saved our home. Make sure the numbers on your house can be seen.
Have a fire plan.
Don't keep chemicals in the house: paints, aerosols. They explode.
Don't "run" appliances when you aren't home. This didn't cause our fire, but your house stands a shot if you are home to call 911. Trust me, your house will burn quickly.
Review your insurance policy. The contractors we have worked with really have excellent things to say about USAA. That's what we have and they have come through. There is always a deductible and you won't necessarily recoup the cost of your items lost, but they have been incredible.
12/11/2016: One month later, we have managed to move back into our home. The entire house was painted, all the textiles cleaned, every corner cleaned, and reconstruction is set to begin. One month isn't so bad (in hindsight). In fact, it's very fast and I'm convinced it was quicker than expected because we had some truly hard working people come through here and take care of things.
While enjoying the feeling of being home, my son discovered a bug in his bed. A bedbug. That's right. Day one home and his bed has bedbugs. It only occurred to us this evening how these bugs might have arrived. This summer, we went on a trip to a state park and my son noticed he had gotten some bites overnight. Here we are, 4 months later, with these tick-like insects living in his bed frame. How these may have survived the smoke in our house, I have no idea. In any case, the exterminator comes tomorrow.
Today, after a visit to Lowe's for cleaning supplies, a Christmas tree, and some new lighting, we came home to find our kitchen floor partially covered in water. Hopefully, this is a one time misfiring of our dishwasher, then again, I'm not sure I want to find out.
I suppose I have not mentioned that a few days before our fire, our minivan did not start. It had to get towed and needed a new starter. At 205,000 miles, I'm not surprised. A few days later, the engine light came back on and we had a new catalytic converter installed. And now, we ride around with the engine light on because at the next breakdown, we will have to pronounce her dead and dump her into the scrap heap.
Needless to say, we've had a run with some bad luck.
Backtracking...after tossing my son's mattress into the front yard and hollering out something unpleasant, I felt a little more worn out than usual. I started wondering aloud to the kids about what kind of energy I might have sent into the universe. Did I do something? Did I say something? I mean, truly, what is going on? Andrew, wise at 16 said, "I don't know Mom. I don't think it's anything we did. We've been so fortunate for so long, maybe it's just our turn. These things just happen." Damn it, Andrew. I want to be angry and ungrateful and have legitimate reasons to feel that way. I know, however, what Andrew said is true. Things happen. We'll take our hits and hopefully, come out stronger. I find myself less sad, but triggered by some things. Pictures that were burnt upset me today. Hearing a message from our pastor, the same message Andrew reminded me of, upset me. I don't live in gray, I live in black and white, and unfortunately for me, life is mostly gray.
Being ungrateful takes a lot of energy. It is exhausting and I'd like to be done with it. Tonight, I was shown a ridiculous kindness from friends (my friends and family have shown copious amounts of kindness, but this one was different). They had secretly collected a significant amount of money for us. I realized I had no idea what to do with this kindness, this generosity. I would much rather be on the giving end. It's difficult for me to receive. It pains me to confess that I need help, that I feel tired and flat. I found myself not telling many people about our mishap. When I dig deep, I can't decide if I'm too proud to admit that I need help or if I just really don't know how to receive gracefully. Maybe both. I find myself propped up by friendships. I feel like the wind is knocked out of me because I absolutely do not know how to feel what I am currently feeling. I am overwhelmed, but I recognize this sense of gratitude and love that even one day without, is too long.
