Our Quirky Life

Last night my ill feeling hubby and I were sitting on the couch watching Cesar Millan. I am reclined with a slumbering baby in my arms, I shift to adjust my now numb, and tingling arm. As I attempt to slide my arm out from under her, I inadvertently looked out the window. There is a strange light emanating from over the trees.

“FIRE!”

In the next moment flames reach high up to the heavens from the other side of our neighbors house. My hubby jumps us and asks if I mind if he goes to see what is going on. It is softly raining, and fairly cold. He is in pj’s and slips on some flip flops, a fleece, no hat, grabs the camera, and slips out the door. I am left alone in the house with 2 sleeping children. I can hear noises of radio voices speaking to each other, hoses streaming, and popping sounds.

Eventually hubby returns to tell me which house it is. It belongs to a family with 5 children. We see them all the time waiting for the bus for school, raking the yard, and riding their bikes. In this day and age you rarely see outside kids any more, but this pack always is. All summer long they play in another neighbors yard that has a pool. I often open my eyes on summer mornings when the light is still young to their splashing voices.

Their house is gone. All gone.

When the emergency people were fighting the fire the family was tucked safely away from the surrounding people. A mix of gawkers, care-ers, and horrified viewers. I can only imagine how they must have felt with a crowd watching their safe place, comfort zone, and favorite things in the whole wide world travel upward in a billow of blackness. Invaded.

This morning I joined in. Despite the pouring rain, and wind, I leashed up the dog and walked over there to see. As soon as I opened my door that unmistakable smell of things burning that should not hit me. The main structure is standing, but the roof is a write off. The doors are off, the windows all broken and you can see inside the place they at one time felt safe. The fireman were still there, rolling up hoses, walking through the house checking for flair ups, and protecting the house from people going inside. I walked by as the rain, and the tears ran down my face.

Hubby took pictures and I asked him not to post them. He told me that it’s public, their house sits on a street that everyone can drive by. I told him please not to. It’s personal for them. Almost as if someone you loved died in a horrible accident, you would not want their broken remains out there for everyone to see. Death should be a private affair, for either person, place, or thing.

If you read this, please keep the family in your thoughts today.