The calendar says it happened tomorrow. But I know it happened on a Wednesday night a year ago today. I know the first 911 call came in at 7:48 p.m. and I know a short time later a friend came and pulled me out of choir practice with the words, “Go home. Your apartment is on fire.”
Journaling, as always but especially through those first days, helped keep me sane:
Fire
The First Few Days
The Next Few Days
The Last Few Days
Back On Track
What now? Now I do pretty good most days. I can now go days instead of hours without thinking of everything that has happened over the past year. I can search for missing items and not have to doubt if it’s really missing or if was lost in the fire and I need to stop looking.
One day I’ll be able to be around a lit candle without wanting to blow it out. One day I can be around a bonfire or a grill and not feel every hair on my the back of my neck stand on end. One day I’ll enjoy the fireworks on the Fourth of July and not have a panic attack.
One day I’ll be able to look back over this time in my life and not shed a tear. One day I’ll be able to go through the last few bags and boxes that I stuffed in a corner and prayed would disappear. One day I’ll be able to go through them and say good bye to what’s inside. I won’t ever have to say good bye to the memory they are attached to.
Nothing can burn that away.
