Too Far From Home

 

October 22, 2007-Phoenix, Arizona…

I sat at home with my baby, Princess P.  We had just returned home from a trip to Southern California for my brother’s wedding, followed by a week at the beach…we figured we might as well make the drive worth it and then some!

I sat, stunned and frozen as every major network on T.V. streamed live coverage of a massive fire burning through San Diego County.  Not only was it San Diego County, it was in the heart of where I grew up, where most of my family and friends still resided.  I watched, helpless as my hometown burned…

It was called the Witch (Creek) Fire…

I was paralyzed.  All I could do was cradle my infant daughter for comfort as tears fell and my heart became heavier and heavier.  I KNEW, in a very deep place that this fire would change my life and many I knew and loved.

I held my breath.  I crossed my fingers.  I prayed selfishly…please don’t let my family get hurt or suffer the loss of nearly EVERYTHING!!!

I tried to find the strength to be grateful.  Grateful that my family and friends were okay, physically.

I kept waiting and trying to dig deeper to find it in me to not feel so angry, betrayed, helpless and way too far from “home”.

Although I was grateful to not have the firsthand experience of the frightening events, including evacuation and the uncertainty of my own home surviving the fire storm, I suffered fear for my loved ones.  Were they okay?  Did they make it out?  What about the pets?  I felt like I SHOULD have been there too!  This was happening to me, too, even though I was not physically there!

Then the confirmation of my fears; the confirmation of my intuitive feeling, the knot in my stomach that was tighter than I’d ever felt in my life…Carole’s and Charlie’s house was gone…

How can such pain come from the loss of someone else’s home?  That old farmhouse was the heart of our family.  That house was my second home.  More than that, I was suffering for the pain that my aunt and uncle were just handed as I watched helplessly as the nightmare unfolded on the television.

As many of you may have understood already, Carole and I have been extremely close my entire life.  There is a very long story to fill the gap beyond your average Aunt/Niece relationship, but  that’s for another post; this is about the home that was lost and how it has changed the lives of many people.

In my pre-teen years, Carole would drive (15 miles each way) , EARLY, almost every Sunday morning to pick me up for a day of “work” for her.  Don’t let this fool you; that is why “work” is in quotes.  Yes, I helped with many projects, but more than that, I got to hang with one of my favorite people in the world and she taught me all kinds of cool (and some not-so-cool-but-useful) things.  AND she paid me!!  Good deal! (For me!).

As I got a bit older, I got “too busy”.  Teenagers do that, everything becomes very “important”, even on Sunday mornings (insert eye roll)…now that I’m in my 30’s with kids of my own, I understand how silly this was.  As a teen I spent less and less time at Carole’s and Charlie’s house, but my heart never strayed.  That house, the memories and the foundation it (they: Carole and Charlie) had become to our entire family was never unappreciated or unnoticed.  Birthdays, Christmas, Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Thanksgiving; you name it, we gathered and celebrated at Carole’s and Charlie’s house!

That house held our hearts.

After the initial loss and the shock, I couldn’t help but worry and hurt for my Aunt and Uncle.  What could I possibly say or do?  I couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain and the loss they had endured and the suffering they were experiencing.

Five years later, I still can’t…

Carole’s story continues below this post with “In the Blink of an Eye.”  Read on…

Until Next Time,