When tragedy strikes

I woke up only to remember.  The memory from just yesterday hit me hard.  And it all came back to me.  It was surreal.  Because what we’d all witnessed didn’t even register as we were watching it unfold.  A fire out of nowhere.  And the garage.  We live in the county and rely on a volunteer fire crew from the next town over; it took them 20 minutes to arrive.  Devastating.  My hands and voice were shaking as I called the first two girlfriends.  I hugged my kids as they walked in from school.  The girls were crying.  We huddled together with the neighbor kids in the basement for a prayer.  Only to learn that the first and second grade boys with us had already said their own on the trampoline just a few minutes before.  So sweet, such good boys.  A close time for our family and our little friends in a tiny circle in a basement bedroom.  A plea for comfort for our dear friends.  We ventured out to meet with the rest of the neighbors.  A loving mom friend, visibly shaken, needed a hug, and so did our teenage neighbor friend.  We all united in our concern for our friends, and—as neighbors do—we became one another’s comfort and support throughout the afternoon and evening.  Almost immediately girlfriends and bags of clothes, toiletries, blankets, new items with tags still on, sippy cups and bottles, diapers and wipes, a bed and a seat all showed up in my living room.  People streamed in and out all afternoon.  A tragic event.  But we found peace.  We even laughed.  We took turns with the kids and the baby.  We made cookies.  I picked up a kid from school.  We made dinner.  We had snacks.  We fielded phone calls and requests for help, overcome with the outpouring of love and concern for our sweet little neighbor family.

She was amazing.  The first moment I saw her, just about half an hour after it all started, she just kind of laughed, “I guess I won’t be cutting your hair in the morning.”  She lightened the mood, she was just who she was.  Not stoic on purpose, just herself, an occasional tear, mostly normal, feeling overwhelmed mostly in private.  This afternoon she mused, “Just a bit of new flooring is all it really needs.”  She made me laugh, when I should’ve been helping her along.  Her husband was honest but smiled when we asked how things were going, “Surviving.”  But his calm demeanor, his beautiful smile calmed the moment, we knew he had the same perspective, the same way of looking at tragedy in the framework of what really matters.  Devastating, obviously.  But survivable.

On our early morning walk I noted how the siding had melted, and it immediately made me think of people whose exteriors had also been damaged, some in even the exact same way as a result of fire.  As hard as it was to look at, I couldn’t help but feel grateful the soul of their home was alive and well.  Just as with our friends whose shells are casualties of life; we all know it’s really what’s inside we love and care about.  I remember all the times I’d been in their home, but the comfort I’d felt there didn’t have anything to do with the walls or decorations.  It was all about the people who lived there, our friends, their warm demeanors, the light and happiness they radiated.  Anyone can do that, but not everyone does.  They are a truly remarkable family, and because they have touched each of us in so many ways we long to return the love, to show them in tangible ways how much we care and hurt for them.  That we are here.

I don’t have any frame of reference when it comes to tragedies.  I’ve never had anything extraordinary happen.  Ever.  But from all that I’ve observed over the years, it will be ok.  As in every trial in life, we learn some things.  We’re instantly reminded life was never about things.  Not even close.  And yet possessions still mean something; we don’t discount that.  We can allow ourselves to be sentimental and to hurt over losses, but we are able to put it all in perspective somehow.

What I understand about life is that it’s all about family and friends and relationships.  How we loved and treated the people in our lives.  It’s the first thing anyone asks about when tragedy strikes.  Those are the parts of life you hope to keep intact, and so they’re worth investing in even when there’s not a trial.  It’s the people you’ve been close to who come to your aid, who you seek comfort from.  But it’s also others you didn’t know you knew.  And maybe it’s strangers from nowhere giving you what you didn’t even know you needed.  From where I stand, it’s all about people and our relationships with one other.

I felt warm inside when she said she could really feel the prayers of her friends and family, helping her stay calm.  There is peace and comfort in knowing what really matters, that we are here to help one another, to strengthen each other and to love.  She’s done that for all of us, which is why it’s natural for us to ache for her and to want to sweep her into our arms and make everything better.  But because we can’t, we do what we can.  And hope that somehow she can feel the arms of heaven around her, carrying her through these most trying times.