Thoughts on losing my home in the Marshall Fire, one week later

I know I’m not the first to have lost a home in a wildfire. Still, when you live in a happy little town ten miles from the foothills, you don’t expect to lose your home in a wildfire, along with a thousand other houses in your zipcode.

Had I chosen to live in a place nestled in the mountains, then I would have been more worried about forest fires. I was born in a country where we still had bomb and earthquake drills at school, then moved to an area with tsunami sirens so I’m not a novice on being prepared for natural disasters.

My chosen home and neighborhood in the suburbs being incinerated by a wildfire whipped up by hurricane force winds? Nope, I wasn’t expecting that to happen. Ever.

Below are some thoughts that have been flying through my head in the past week. Many of these thoughts may seem callous or ungrateful, although that’s not my intent (see Thought #1). I’m blessed with a wonderful support network of family, friends, and community who have fed, housed, and clothed us in the past week. I do worry about those victims who aren’t as fortunate as we are to be surrounded by friends with means. I’m hoping that writing down some of these thoughts might be therapeutic and allow me to process them for myself.

Thought #1: I’m angry, anxious, sad, grateful, overwhelmed, all at the same time.

1. Why our home? Why our neighborhood? Why our town?
2. Why didn’t I go back to the house earlier in the day when I could still have done so?
3. Will my kids be okay? Will my family be okay? Will I be okay?
4. I‘m facing a metric sh*t ton of paperwork and correspondence.
5. Holy f*ck, this is expensive and time consuming.
6. I am so lucky to have an extremely supportive spouse.
7. I am also privileged to have generous friends and family with spacious homes and means to contribute financially and immediately.
8. I hate that so many friends and neighbors are going through the same thing. None of us asked to be in the “lost my home in a fire” club.
9. I will never be able to replace X (e.g., my kids’ photographs and drawings, those soccer photo magnets that were on my refrigerator, correspondence from my grandparents on thin, Air Mail stationery, our wedding photos, my husband’s vintage LEGO sets…).
10. Why am I so tired? Why can’t I sleep?

Thought #2: Unless it’s a photo of your house taken by you or your family member, please don’t share photos of a burned out home or neighborhood.

On the morning of New Year’s Eve, I found out my home was lost in the fire by finding a Tweet of before/after photos of my neighborhood taken via drone. A few days later, there was a CPR story with a headline photo taken in our cul-de-sac with my house in the background.

While I understand these photos are visually shocking, they are also highly personal — that was someone’s home, someone’s everything.

For me, it’s difficult seeing my loss so publicly displayed. Seeing photos of the wreckage of my house on other people’s social media feeds triggers fresh grief and trauma. Every. Single. Time.

(Yes, that is a photo of our home at the top of this story, taken by my son.)

Thought #3: Please be patient with me.

1. I’m in survival mode. I don’t have the mental capacity for social graces. I can barely string together a cohesive thought, finish a sentence. Even writing this post has been a struggle, and I write for a living.
2. As much as I feel compelled to do so, I do not have the time to respond to you right away. Outpouring of support is amazing. Having the guilt of 100+ emails/texts/social media messages waiting for responses is not amazing.

Thought #4: What is helpful

1. Messages that say “You don’t have to respond to me — just know that I’m thinking of you.”
2. Cash via Venmo/PayPal/Zelle. Gift cards require additional steps to access and use.
3. Specific offers for help, based on your particular ability, such as shelter (short term and long term), transportation (e.g., big truck to move stuff when needed), meals (preferably something that keeps well)
4. Be the point of contact for specific tasks, e.g., mobilizing a particular group of friends, creating a list of resources, so that I don’t have to be the victim and organizer at the same time.
5. Offering to come and pick up the donated items that we don’t need or can’t use.

Thought #5: What is not helpful

1. Asking me “how can I help?” or “what do you need?” I don’t know what I need right now, beyond the immediate needs (a place to sleep, feeding my family, keeping my business afloat, making sure this experience won’t break my kids, my family, myself).
2. Telling me to “stay strong” or “hang in there.” I have no other choice but to keep myself together for my family/business and get through each day. Have you noticed it’s only the people who DIDN’T lose their homes that have changed their social media profiles to “80027 Strong” or “Louisville Strong” or use those hashtags?
3. Forwarding information from emails or social media offering donations or resources. That’s more emails and messages that I feel like I’ll have to respond to (see Thought #3 above). Chances are, I’ve already seen it. I don’t have the time/capacity to go to every clothing distribution / food donation / resource service. Unless you give me specific contact information and offer to make the arrangement for me, that’s yet another action item you’re putting on my overloaded plate.
4. Even if you have gone through a similar experience with the loss of your home, you’re addressing me from the other end of the tunnel. I appreciate your practical advice and encouragement. I’m just getting started with my own experience of this huge loss and rebuilding process, and I don’t have your bigger perspective yet.
5. Offering to set up a GoFundMe page or a public fundraiser. My grief and loss are public enough right now (see Thought #2 above). I don’t want more of it shared on social media.
6. Bringing clothes or shoes without knowing our sizes. We’ve ended up with piles of clothing and shoes that don’t fit anyone in my family and had to figure out how to get them to the appropriate donation centers.
7. Bringing us sweets and alcohol. As much as we’d love to drown our sorrows in comfort food and drink, what we need is nutritious food to get through today and prepare us for tomorrow.
8. Offering furniture. I no longer have a home in which to put it. I will ask for specific items, if I do have a need.
9. Offering donations of any kind, then saying “please pass along to anyone who might need this item.” If I don’t need the item, I don’t have the time or capacity to deal with it. I’m not all of a sudden a victims’ advocate or expert. Please figure out yourself how to get your offered item to those in need.
10. Telling me “this too shall pass.”

Thought #6: I’m still the same person.

I surprised myself by still wanting to help others that are going through the same horrible experience.

1. I will do anything my family needs to survive.
2. I asked a wonderful friend to set up a consolidated list of resources for the Marshall Fire victims (www.helping.tips — please share!)
3. I’ve been able to connect friends with housing leads.

This actually reassured me that I’m still a good person, even if my life circumstances have changed.

It’s hard to believe it’s been a week, and I’m being told the rebuilding process will take years. Right now, though, everything is raw. And real.