On November 4, 1997, at 4:04 AM in the morning. I heard an intermittent buzzing. I sat up in bed, bleary-eyed, and put my feet on the cold floor. I stood up and took one step. And in between that one step and the next, before my bare foot hit the hardwood floor, I thought, "The house is on fire." I wasn't thinking straight, and I called to my husband and threw open our bedroom door. He says that the first thing he saw as he opened his eyes was my silhouette against the flames.
The home office, right across the hallway from our bedroom door, was on fire. Flames were licking up the wall behind my computer monitor which was already charred. I bolted from the house, screaming for my husband to get the baby (who was two) while I woke my brother, who was living with us at the time and is notoriously hard to wake.
When I got out the door, I realized that my husband had not followed us out. He was going for the main breaker. And without a thought, I ran back into the smoky, burning house, into the teeth of the fire. I scooped up my GG and left, nearly colliding with my husband who was already dragging the hose down the hall to douse the fire.
I went to the neighbor clad in nothing but a t-shirt and panties and hammered on their door for five minutes before they got up. They called the fire department for us. Despite being less than 3 miles away, the fire truck took 20 minutes to arrive. By that time, the fire was long out. Without my husband's firefighting training (courtesy of the US Navy) we would have lost everything: my wedding dress, the hundred year old pictures of our families, every stitch of clothing, everything. Once the fire got into the attic, the house would have been a total loss.
As it was, we were out of our house for weeks. We missed Thanksgiving, living in a hotel. We moved in a scant 4 days before Christmas. And I nearly lost my mind. The damage came to $43,000. Insurance paid, but in fits and starts, wreaking havoc on our budget. Every thing we owned had to be washed, cleaned, restored, or painted. It was the single most stressful event in my whole life--to the point where "stress" seems like such a pathetic understatement, I can't begin to think of a noun that really fits.
For years afterward, I woke smelling smoke. I would have to get up and check the whole house before I could force myself back to sleep. I remember, vividly, how my bedside clock looked at 4:04 AM that morning. I, who can barely remember my daughters' birthdays, remember the exact date. I can see the flames, feel the terror.
I smell smoke in my nightmares.
I have a good friend named Hope who I've known for years. Last night, Hope's sister's house burned to the ground. They lost everything. They are now living with Hope.
At a time like this, when you've been where I have, you want to do something to help. Your heart goes out, but you feel helpless nevertheless. And that's where you come in. One person can't do much, but together, we can do a lot. So here I am, asking you to open your hearts, your closets, and your wallets to help Hope's sister and her children. They have lost everything.
Child One: Boy, age 4, size approx. 5
Child Two: Girl, age 1, size approx. 24 months.
You can send monetary donations via PayPal to icrochet@bellsouth.net
or by mail to:
Hope Wilbanks
ATTN: Donation for Faith
PO Box 100
Palmetto, LA 71358
Please be generous.
No comments:
Post a Comment