Fire

The best shower I ever took was the one at my friend’s house after the fire. It was hot and steamy. The beating water draped my body in soothing comfort. The soap was fragrant with lavender and rose. The towels were plush and neatly folded; the dry clothes, smokeless and warm. It was a shower of gratitude, a sanctuary where I could mourn and weep in disbelief. A town wiped out. Our house still standing but without heat or water. We were lucky. So lucky. It was a shower of miracles.

A day earlier we were walking the dog in the morning. We saw smoke coming over the field behind our house. My husband said, lets check that out because if the field is on fire we could be in trouble. We walked to the field and the smoke and blunder seemed far enough away but the wind was kicking up. I took the dog and started heading home. My husband wanted to get some pictures and so he stayed with some other neighbors who were starting to gather around to see what was happening. I said, "looks like a bad fire somewhere." I had no idea it was heading our way... but the wind was kicking up.

By the time I got home, you could smell the smoke. I started getting concerned. I phoned our neighbors and they seemed rather casual about the whole thing, but I'm usually the one who worries most around this cul-de-sac. I'm usually the one who sounds the alarm while the others chuckle and tell me to relax.

An hour later we were evacuating. We had to get my ninety-eight-year-old mother-in-law who has dementia, packed up and out of her apartment too. We took two cars; my husband drove his and put my mother-in-law in mine with me. I smelled the smoke, I saw the brown sky and the orange ball of fire coming at us. We were stuck in the car heading west to our friend's house. We were gridlocked and ash was falling around us. To my left, the sky was turning darker and darker with bright orange streaks; to my right, blue skies were beckoning us their way. How I longed to drive toward that blue sky. But we couldn't move. No cars were moving for what seemed an eternity. I looked at my mother-in-law. She was sucking on her water bottle, in some sort of oblivion that at the moment, I was thankful for.

Its a terrifying moment when smoke and ash begin to wrap around you in a whipping wind. Flight or fight kicks in. I drove my car onto the curb trying to get around someone. My mother-in-law still sat quietly, softly mentioning that the sky was "pretty." Then she panicked when she saw how close I was to the car I was trying to get around. I had to calm her down but I had no way of calming myself down. Deep breaths. Deep burning breaths.

In the chaos, in the waiting, I heard no cars honking in distress and frustration. I saw no one screaming out the window or at one another. There was no yelling, there was no anger at the cop trying to direct traffic. There were people in cars with sadness and fear in their eyes, nodding to each other, crossing our fingers out the window. It seemed we all understood we just had to patient and pray. We just had to pray.

The community trauma we now all suffer is as thick as the smoke that once consumed our streets. To see so much destroyed and know so many who lost their homes is unthinkable. Such destruction is evil. Fire is evil. Yet the outpouring of support and love is unbelievable and the will to rebuild, remarkable. In a time when it seems Mother Nature is wreaking havoc on our human race, I am astonished at how people come together in disaster after disaster. How gracious they can be, how unifying. It gives me hope.