We awoke this morning to the news that there had been a fire one block over. The corner of Oak and Coolidge Street. I thought of the two houses that it could be. I didn't know either of them. But in our tight-knit community, that kind of reality hits hard.
I got up and looked online for a story or picture. The image I found was of a brown house, inhabitants still unnamed. As I looked at the photo, my heart sank. This looked like the front of a former high school classmate...a new friend since they'd moved in the neighborhood. Motherhood and civic activism had connected us. It couldn't be that she and her family were the ones (they weren't).
I walked down the street. I ran into another neighbor who told me that the family had been old friends of theirs. How could I explain the twisted feeling of relief upon learning that it wasn't my friend? I just excused myself and walked there myself.
Seeing the charred and hollowed house was hard. This was certainly was one of the block's prettiest, with a well-tended garden, pond with goldfish...Later today, we learned that our neighbor's new palm trees were planted by the father yesterday.
They left behind a 13 year-old son. I couldn't help but think how he must be feeling. I would certainly rather go up in flames.
The front of the house is now a make-shift shrine. Despite the flowers I had chosen to bring, the TV crews are keeping me home. I can't do that again, I feel.
May they rest in peace. And may he find comfort in their memories, and the love they shared with him.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment