Things We Lost, Things We Gained

               Timmy’s popsicle lay melting on the sidewalk where he dropped it. Sara’s backpack sat inside the treehouse where she left it. Connor’s soccer ball rolled to a stop, forgotten as he ran with his siblings towards home. Dread motivated them to run faster and longer than they had ever done before. What started as a lazy summer day at the park down the block was interrupted by sirens, black smoke, and shattering windows. Even from the park, the children could tell the smoke was coming from their house.  

By the time the children arrived, the house was engulfed in black smoke and flames. Three firetrucks, sirens screaming, had pulled up to the curb and firefighters rushed to work. Connor, the oldest, saw their father standing alone near the bush by the edge of their yard, the “gathering spot” that they had designated in their family emergency plan. He looked terribly worried as he watched the fire consume their home.

               Dad gasped in relief when he saw his three children running towards him and gathered them all into a big hug. He held on tightly and told them everything would be okay. Connor couldn’t see how, but he wanted to believe. They then turned and watched the firefighters work to save the house.

               Over the next several hours, all they could do was watch from a safe distance, which was occasionally pushed back further and further. Mom arrived from work and joined the family. A neighbor brought them a late lunch that they tried to eat, but the anxiety of the situation lessened everyone’s appetite. The fire captain gave regular updates about what he could, but with little good news. Around dinnertime, the roof collapsed. Near sunset, the walls caved in. By sunrise the next morning, the rubble was still smoldering, with occasional bursts of fire.

               Looking back on that summer, five years ago, Connor remembers some details vividly while others have become obscure. He described to me their first night in the hotel room that was donated by the owner. The kids had nothing except what they were wearing and what they left at the park, but none of them were interested in swimming at the pool anyway. They all just sat in a stupor, with minimal talking or moving. Timmy, usually an energetic eight-year-old, was the first to fall asleep. Sara, a couple weeks past her tenth birthday, tried not to cry as she doodled on the notepad beside the phone. She drifted off to sleep around midnight. Connor, nearly a teenager, couldn’t sleep and stayed up all night with his parents, as they started to talk about what to do next.

               The next morning, while eating breakfast at the hotel, the news channel reported on the fire: “Yesterday afternoon, at approximately 11:40 AM, the home at two-zero-two-zero Universal Circle caught on fire. The fire department was on scene within ten minutes, but the blaze remained out of their control. The fire captain was overheard to say that something in the house kept reigniting after they would put it out, making the situation extremely dangerous for the firefighters to push further into the house. The fire overwhelmed the house and it collapsed during the night. The firefighters worked overnight to keep the fire from spreading to nearby houses, at which they were successful. One firefighter was injured when a section of the roof collapsed and was rushed to the hospital. He is expected to make a full recovery and there were no other injuries reported due to the house fire. Only the father was home when the fire started and the family of five is safe.”

               The news report was the first time Connor saw the smoldering remains of his childhood home, and he still tears up thinking about that breakfast. The family has also never stayed at that hotel chain again, although they all express their deep gratitude for the room that the hotel gave them as well as all the free meals the hotel provided.

               I asked Connor what he missed most immediately after the fire. He told me about how difficult it was to get dressed every morning. Many emergency support institutions helped provide the family with essentials like clothing, food, toiletries, and activities for the children. But he hated the donated clothing and didn’t want to wear anything. Connor then told me about his dice collection. He had spent about four years building his collection, and it was all gone. He hasn’t bought a pair of dice since, although he thinks about it every time he sees them.

               Sara’s stuffed animals were lost in the fire as well, and she latched on to a stuffed cow that was donated. She still sleeps with it and it stays beside her pillow, except for when she is feeling especially sad. Then she’ll even put it in her backpack and take it to school. Timmy’s rock collection mostly survived, but the family didn’t spend much time salvaging through the rubble. Timmy gathered three of his rocks back before he stopped taking them as anyone found one. Timmy put those three rocks in a box and hasn’t looked at them in a couple years.

               As Connor continued to describe what life was like immediately after the fire, I could tell that parts of the trauma are still unhealed. At times he was able to speak with emotion and caring, acknowledging the scary part of that time is now over. At other times he seemed to shut down and speak mechanically about facts and details, emotionless and unfeeling. Those details are still painful for him and he is unable to let himself understand them yet. The tragedy is still present for him in those moments.

               Connor told me about finding a temporary home while his parents worked with the insurance company. They lived there for just over a year, while the rubble was cleaned up and a new home built. The family had decided to build a new house rather than try to recreate the same home. The day they moved in to their old property with a new structure was one of the oddest days of Connor’s life.

               I asked Connor about life while living in their temporary home. He remembers it with a peculiar mixture of fondness and trepidation. The family spent more time together that year than they have before or since: camping, reading books, cleaning up the rubble, riding bikes, going to the park, playing catch, learning to swim, and eating picnics in the backyard were some of the activities that they did regularly together. It was a great bonding time for them, but there were also nightmares, sickness, and shock resulting from the fire that they had to deal with.  They did that together too.

               As Connor is about to start his senior year of high school, the scariness of that summer day is now a turning point, but not a defining point, of his life. He recognizes that he has grown because of it, and he is more caring to those around him. He is quick to help others when he sees they are afraid or left out. He recognizes that his family is closer because of the experience, and he couldn’t imagine getting through some of his teenage years, or his younger sister’s, without the closeness that his family created. He also praises his parents for the positive way they led the family through that difficult time. They weren’t afraid to show how scared they were, he told me, but they also looked beyond the immediate uncertainty. The family often discussed what they could do to make their situation better, then followed through on their discussions. That is what he takes away most from that time after the house fire.

               As our interview neared a conclusion, I asked if he could take me to the places where things happened. We started with the temporary house they stayed in, as that was closest to where we had lunch and our interview. He commented on how small it looks now, but how solid and safe it felt at the time. He told me stories about stargazing in the backyard, tearing out the bushes that ran along the garage (because Timmy was afraid they might catch fire), and playing catch with his siblings with a baseball, a football, and a frisbee all at the same time.

               Next we went to the hotel where they stayed for almost a month. He didn’t want to go inside, but instead told me about the first time the family went to the pool together, everyone wearing a donated swimming suit, and how awkward they felt at first but how good they felt afterwards.

               Then he showed me the new house. The bush where the family gathered was removed last summer, and there are no major signs that a blazing fire consumed the area. But in the backyard, where they have a little patio, the scorch marks are still visibly burned into the cement.

               The last place that Connor took me to visit was the park where they were playing. He told me that the three children had each gotten a popsicle from the freezer on their way to the park, but the older children had finished them before they arrived. All of the playground equipment is now gone, including the tree that held a simple treehouse, the park now a grass field. Sara loved to go read in the treehouse, while Connor and Timmy would play like they were pirates sailing the seas in the treehouse if they could get there before she did. The swings, the slide, and the jungle gym are all gone, with nothing to mark where they once were. As we stood looking at the park, I glanced down and noticed a faint blue stain on the sidewalk. Connor looked at it and told me that is where Timmy was standing when they realized the smoke they saw and the sounds they heard were coming from their homes. Sara jumped from the treehouse, Connor ran from the middle of the park, and Timmy dropped his popsicle and followed as best as he could.

               That faint blue stain on the sidewalk, and the memory it surrounds, is one reason the three children never came back to this park to play. While the overall event has had some great family moments and positive outcomes, the initial event is still filled with the fear of three little children.