After the Fire

After the Fire

Days and weeks wheel by in a blur. Frenzied action is broken by spells of dazed inaction. There is too much to do so soon. We move through it all anyway. Sometimes we even laugh.

The temporary rental in Woodinville is lovely but too far away from almost everything else. Our commute is complicated as before the fire in Edmonds our three daughters still go to school in North Seattle and move back and forth in different custody arrangements with our ex-spouses. Yes, Kristina and I have crafted a Post-Modern post-double divorce blended family over the past 8 years, and while successful it is a lot of work. Our exes, however, have been wonderfully supportive in this crisis. It never made any sense to us to be at war with those we once loved in years long gone.

We miss Edmonds, though, but are looking for temporary housing closer to our children's schools. Stability is important to us now. Kristina and I long for floors and walls and a roof and yard to push against and call our own. Being homeless feels strange. While we both love to travel and have extensive backgrounds in living out of backpacks, we always had a home to return to somewhere.

People's generosity humbles us. The kindness of strangers is not proverbial to us. It is reality. Many we don't even know have responded with amazing generosity. Gifts of cash, checks, gift cards, free healing and therapy sessions, free childcare, free dog care, clothes for all 5 of us, the loan of this very laptop I'm typing upon; it astounds us. We have given much ourselves in the past, but to allow ourselves to receive so much has truly been an education.

For now the basics are covered. We're going back to work: Kristina as a business coach and consultant, William as a freelance writer/editor who also works in sales at the Seattle REI. Morgan is a sophomore at Roosevelt High, Kate is finishing 5th Grade at B.F. Day, and Talia is in 2nd Grade at Whittier. All three excel in school. Morgan recently made all A's, Kate achieved stellar results in all areas from academics to sports, and Talia shines in the advanced Spectrum program. They each deal with the stress of the fire in their own way, although often it seems they deal with it better than me and Kristina. Kids are so resilient.

Sometimes dealing with the insurance companies seems worse than the fire itself. It is not a personal thing, but the tedious, labor-intensive tasks of creating and completing an exhaustingly detailed inventory of all items lost in the fire that we can remember, where we bought them, how much we paid for and when, addressing the details of the claims, and how much time it demands away from everything else including careers, parenting, and securing a home.

Sometimes I go back to the burn site. The blackened ruins and ashy rubble with their peculiar burnt stench are in stark contrast to the profusion of flowers and greenery around the property. Any openings left are boarded up with shock-white plywood. The stunning views of the Salish Sea and the Olympic Mountains framed so perfectly by banked rows of trees still remains. Life goes on. There is much to be grateful for even in the wake of such loss. We are already emerging stronger than before. This Fire is an Initiation, unplanned, unwanted, and still an initiation...although into what we're not sure. Others we've met with who have survived catastrophic fires all claim that to go through such an experience transformed them and will transform us.

I don't return there as much anymore. My attention is demanded elsewhere. I get back into my car and drive away, practicing being at peace with the trauma of unexpected loss. As I look around me, I am somehow reminded all my ancestors are but memories but they live within my cells. One day, too, Kristina and I and even our children will be but memories to our own future relations. Eventually the greatest legacy fades into oblivion while a wealth of resources remain from which to generate future prosperity. To paraphrase Wallace Stevens, a poet who was also an insurance agent, "everything changes yet remains the same."

It is a beautiful Sunday morning. And it'll rain tomorrow. And shine again. We smile just the same.

Thank you.

William Dudley Bass

(C) 2010