{I wrote this blog post a year ago and never actually shared it. I even said in the post that I was going to share more of my experiences so this December 19th I'm holding true to that. It may be 33 long years overdue but who's counting.}
I have an unending pain. It reignites every December 19th since 1986. I have a pain in my soul such that if a soul could be visible and look at its reflection in the mirror, it would wither and weep at the picture of the memory it sees.
A scared 13 year old girl who one moment is chatting with her neighbor on the phone and laughing away to begging her to call 911 because her house is on fire. Not only that, the very spot where the fire started was where her feeble grandmother sat in her chair and died before she and her sisters even knew there was a frightful emergency.
I have an unending pain. It reignites every December 19th since 1986. I have a pain in my soul such that if a soul could be visible and look at its reflection in the mirror, it would wither and weep at the picture of the memory it sees.
A scared 13 year old girl who one moment is chatting with her neighbor on the phone and laughing away to begging her to call 911 because her house is on fire. Not only that, the very spot where the fire started was where her feeble grandmother sat in her chair and died before she and her sisters even knew there was a frightful emergency.
We didn't know the fire had even started until the flames were fully engulfed. Grandma lived in a little apartment attached on to my house off the back porch. I was the last person to see her alive. It was my turn to help her that morning by bringing her prunes and whatever else. She would always say to us, "Take a quarter." She always had a roll of quarters and whenever we helped her out, she would reward us. I was the lucky recipient of a quarter that morning and then the next time I looked at the chair she was sitting in, it was nothing but charred ashes and smoke. All I could think of in my 13 year old mind was how could she have been sitting in that? What happened to her? The smell. Oh the smell of the fire. I kept that quarter for so many years after and have always been disappointed that I lost it along the way...
The things we over here adults say when the adults don't realize young people are listening can be the most impressionable in our memories. For example, I heard my mother talking about our priest coming over to pray and anoint my grandmother's body and I heard her say that the priest said, "There was nothing to anoint." But I had JUST seen her only hours earlier...Looking back, I can't imagine how hard that must have been for my mother. It was HER mother. Her own mother died a few days before Christmas in such a tragic and devastating way. And two of my sisters and I were the only ones home at the time.
A man came from across the street and broke the window where Grandma was sitting and that only fed the fire and made the flames shoot out of the window. I know this because as my neighbor was walking us across the street to her house and she told me not to look back. She kept saying, "Don't look back".
I looked back.
I looked back.
Before the fire trucks arrived and before my neighbor arrived to help us across the street to her house, I had to find a way OUT of my house. Come to think of it, I don't know which way my sisters went out of the house. Instead of going out the front door where it was safe, I went to the back of the house where the fire was and walked through the smoke to get out the back door. I was so panicked and ill prepared for anything of this nature and it has actually affected me my whole life. I still have trouble with quick decisions and emergencies to this day.
The reason I went through the back door was because it was slushy and snowy outside and I remember thinking that I had my slippers on and couldn't walk in the slush. It makes no sense, but what does when one is in a situation like that. So scary. Getting out of my house is something that I remember so well. The thoughts that went through my head...the panic feeling...the black black smoke.
I couldn't see for a few seconds as I went though it and that feeling has stayed with me. And then to get out on to the sidewalk to fresh winter air and cry for help. So so real.
I couldn't see for a few seconds as I went though it and that feeling has stayed with me. And then to get out on to the sidewalk to fresh winter air and cry for help. So so real.
That night my family all stayed with different friends and family. On the news, they showed the medical team taking Grandma's draped body on the stretcher out of the house. I was so completely horrified. Also, that afternoon after the fire was out, the investigator wanted me to go back over there and answer questions. WHY? I couldn't recognize anything. Charred burnt things and smoke. I saw her CHAIR.
What my parents told me they chose to believe was that she had a stroke or heart attack, died suddenly and dropped her lit cigarette on herself. We have always prayed that she died before the fire. She was frail and needed a walker. She chain smoked. There was a buzzer she would push if she needed us and that never buzzed.
My home had smoke damage all the way up to the third floor and attic. I remember something about gunpowder being on our back porch that never even exploded. A small plastic statue of Mary that was in our kitchen melted back from the heat. It was a staple in our kitchen for years after and many commented on how it appeared that Mary was leaning back out of the way and that she was looking out for us all.
Our neighbors came together and gave us Christmas gifts that year. I can still picture the sweatshirt I received! Oddly, I can't really remember how we celebrated Christmas that year or how long it was until I stayed in my house again. Maybe a few days.
Our neighbors came together and gave us Christmas gifts that year. I can still picture the sweatshirt I received! Oddly, I can't really remember how we celebrated Christmas that year or how long it was until I stayed in my house again. Maybe a few days.
Where is this traumatic memory stored in my brain. Why, after 32 years, do I recall every detail and still feel scared? Overall I believe we are all a product of our own pains, hurts, joys, fears and brokenness. We all make our way through things that pain our hearts and cut us to the core. We never know the sufferings of another, the memories that hurt, the scary situations we encounter head on. Life is not one moment. It is journey of a million of little moments. It's up to us to store these memories and turn them in to something healthy and to heal. Maybe sharing this story has helped me. Thank you for being a part of my million little moments.
I tend to use humor and sarcasm to make people laugh and to make myself laugh. In the second half of my life, I plan on sharing more of the pain and realness of life that has taught me sooo many lessons. Laughter truly is the best medicine, as they say. Boy, has it been my savior. But maybe I'll actually ease up on the sarcasm. Just maybe.
So every December 19th I stop and reflect as it gets so close to Christmas. I stop and think about what is truly important, what makes me tick, and what I have to be grateful for in life. Many blessings, many moments, many journeys. I pray you have the courage to share what you need to share and bring out in the open what weighs you down and what is not your fault.
