Let me begin by saying I’m fortunate. My wife and I, along with our dog Willow, got out safely. I’ll spare you the harrowing details only to share that like so many out there, we were taken completely by surprise.
Fortunate? Yes, and hopeful, too. These are emotions I’m cherishing lately. Will it last? Let’s hope so. There’s plenty to be grateful for. We’ve found a comfortable place to stay for the foreseeable future. We have insurance that looks like it will provide the opportunity to begin anew. We’ve experienced the best side of so many people – some of them complete strangers, some family and some friends. You’ve reached out, kept us afloat emotionally. You provided shelter and fed us. (Oh man, did you feed us!)
In short, we have been on the receiving end of an unprecedented outpouring of goodwill. I can’t say thank you enough, or tell those kind folks just how much it has meant. Feelings of gratitude extend to the fire fighters, too.
I’ve been back, confronted the denuded, sterile wasteland out there. I can only imagine the fury of battle that took place. But I digress…
Lastly, and this is the thing I grapple with. There’s this growing rebellious sentiment urging me toward a heartfelt, but final goodbye to the old life. That phase is over. Move on. Sure, we lost many things rare and valuable. Sure, much of our legacy went up in smoke. But hey, what can I do about it other than squeeze a few bucks out of my insurance company? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
So… here’s a novel idea. Why not try and view the devastation as an excuse to start anew? Call it the Mother of all Spring Cleanings, tear off the rear-view mirror and embrace what lies ahead with optimism. I may be 65, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let the Carr Fire take me down with it. Ain’t gonna happen. The fire has given me and Donna a blank slate to build upon. Maybe we can pen the next chapter from a tragedy-honed perspective on what is truly valuable in life. New priorities. Maybe, just maybe, we’re going to be better off.
I have to ask myself, is this newfound optimism simply denial – some paper-thin facade that will melt away in a few days? I suppose time will be the real test. I certainly don’t want to demean in any way the devastating experience of others. There’s a lot of hurting going on. I know firsthand friends and neighbors, damn near a whole town in fact, utterly shaken to the core, grieving for a rich life ripped apart by this fire.
No one is immune to the ripple effect, either. Even among those whose homes were spared, I sense pain, the gnawing weight of guilt. I say to all of them, hey, it was luck of the draw. Don’t despair because you were among the lucky. Let’s rejoice together. God knows we need something to celebrate. Consider those folks who had no insurance and whose future must be looking awful tenuous. Or those who never had a home to begin with, only rendered more desperate than before. No question, it’s not going to end well for everyone. What to do? I’ve made a vow that I will help others when I am able.
You may know me as that naturalist guy who posts the occasional picture up in the right-hand corner of anewscafe’s home page. I’m familiar with cycles. I know that fire is not a bookend to life. The smoke will clear. Plants will come back, the landscape will green up…we will hear those birds again.
Will it be the same as before? No. Not in my lifetime, anyway. And that’s OK. Good things will rise from the ashes. For at least some of us who lost houses and possessions, I believe it’s a chance to get things right, or at least better the second time around. For those others, the less fortunate, it’s our responsibility to keep the spirit of giving and caring alive. How we respond moving forward will go a long way toward defining the character of this town.
Perhaps the best advice I can offer sounds a tad cliché-ish, but while the podium’s mine, here it is: Hope and optimism are where you find them. Don’t stop looking. Pay it forward if you can. Don’t wait for a fire or some other catastrophe to pull this community together. There’s a time for grieving, yes, but don’t let it keep you down for too long.
Finally, concerning a past erased by flames, my wife Donna likes to remind me that the important memories are untouchable, safely stored in our hearts.
