Our Fire
I am true believer than one should never forget their past. We all have had terrible memories or tradegies, but as much effort and counselling as people use to try and forget, in my mind, I think, why? We would not be the person we are today without all of those things from our past good and bad.
17 years ago my family was faced with a loss that, at that time in ours lives, had been the greatest. I grew up in an old white farm house, the same farm house that my grandfather was born in. I loved it. The rooms were small, but I loved the fact that I could jump and touch the ceiling. I had just had a weekend of sleepovers, and by chance, that was the weekend that I somehow allowed a huge Pepsi stain to cover my ceiling. Being sharp as I am, it was quickly covered by a New Kids on the Block poster. I was going to figure out how to tell mom and dad later. The mind of a child.
I remember that Tuesday afternoon well. Even 17 years later I remember riding my 4-wheeler a little slower around the farm because my grandfather was working with my Dad there, and I was a little scared. When I parked it and ran inside my house there was no denying what was happening. Smoke and fire filled our perfect little living room. I ran out of the house and screamed for my dad, then ran next door, to my Nana's house. I was so distraught I was NOT the one who called 911. There was confusion about that later. I watched from her window as my Dad ran inside the house pulling things out and using fire extinguishers. It wasn't the fire consuming my childhood memories that was so frightening. For seconds I was forced to think about my life without my Dad. Lots of details later, my Dad was in ICU with severe burns and damage to his lungs. The house was not considered a "total" lose because the structure still stood, however, everything inside was burned or had smoke and water damage.
My 4th grade classmates organized a ceremony for me and gave me lots of cool things they had brought for me. I received a letter from out State Representative in Raleigh. Our community rallied around us, and for a while I didn't really think of what was happening. My Dad was released from the hospital, and as he walked up the walkway to the house he looked at me, "Girls, now, don't be upset if you see me cry." That should be enough for you. One of the hardest things I have ever seen was my Mom and Dad walking through what used to be their life. What they worked so hard to put together for us.
Healing was hard. I am still trying. Weekly it seems I am calling my step-brother to check something to make sure I unplugged it. I have never left anything pulled up. I don't enjoy houses with fireplaces, and I cringe at the smell of smoke. My heart breaks when I hear of other families losing their homes. I had nightmares for a long time. Sometimes I still do. I remember the kids who laughed at my clothes when they were a little too big because someone has given them to me, but more importantly I also remember our friends who sent money or came and helped with our new house, or stood beside my Mom and Dad when they needed the support. We are one loved family. I hated it took that for us to see it, but we really really are blessed people.
Though my family is much different now. Both Mom and Dad have remarried, Tiff and I have homes, husbands, and children of our own, but we all have this moment in time. We all shared this loss, and we all carry the scars and memories of it. Can't really say I am "thankful" it happened. I'm not, but I am thankful for the four hearts that came through it together and because if it were made stronger and closer. Forever.
