< "I brush, therefore I am." | Main | Heat Wave! >
February 18, 2004
No place to call my own, "An Anniversary"
I'm writing this for myself. Anyone that reads can comment, but be gentle--this is my heart on my sleeve in the most extreme form. That's your warning; respect it. Or you can read this like a short story; it makes no difference to me. I'd just like to get this out here...
Mine wasn't just a quick little spray of the extinguisher to put out, nor did it total my home. It was enough, however, to push my life in a direction that I had never known, something outside the cardinal north and south.
Imagine leaving your house in the morning and when you think you're going to return in the evening, just moving to an entirely different place--something altogether contrasting from your original lifestyle. Oh, and you can't take anything with you except the clothes on your back.
(But you wouldn't want to keep those after rummaging through ashes and maliciously deformed hallmarks of your previous life anyway. I know that I will never forget that smell. )
That morning was like any other to me. I had finally scheduled an appointment to have my senior pictures done in the snow. Luckily, the night of the seventeenth we got about a foot of snow and school was even delayed, which gave me a clear conscious to miss the first few hours for my glamour shots. And the photos went well; afterwards, mom drove me to school, and I was in a great mood all the rest of that day.
Musical practice that afternoon began immediately after school, and I can still remember that it was an excruciating dance practice. Out of nowhere, my grandfather showed up in the back of the auditorium. I went to say "hello" during a break, and find out why he was there (no one just "shows up" to a practice...). He said he'd wait till I was done, and that he was driving me home. Okay, no problem. Practice finished up and again, out of nowhere, my band director flys through the auditorium door asking for me. I told him my grandfather was to take me home, and he seemed relieved, but still frantic. I had no clue what was going on.
My grandfather's truck roared on the way home; he never rushed in anything, but I could tell that he was in a hurry. Then it got closer to my house, and I saw the firetrucks lined up the street. And beyond that, the front windows shattered into unregonition.
I screamed. My heart pounded, my veins bulged with rage, confusion, panic, and a sudden burst of adrenaline. I slid out of the truck and began sprinting towards my home, now in shambles. A firefighter tried to stop me, but I somehow communicated that I belonged to the family that owned the ruined house, and he let me through. I found my grandmother first, was given a hug with an intensity that I will not soon forget, and led to my mother and sister.
They relayed the story, but I never really understood what took place until later on in the week. Everything was smeared into a solitary vision, sound, smell, taste, and touch--all of it horrifying to recall. Firefighters were still hovering about the grounds with hoses, spraying anything and everything. One led my mother and I in thought our sub-terranean garage, up the stairs to the dining room. I can't even remember the first thing I laid eyes on, but I couldn't look at everything fast enough, long enough, hard enough to truly comprehend what it was that had happened. So I bawled. Screams pervaded the house as I saw my piano, our living room furniture, the portrait of Our Savior--descimated; my bedroom, my photographs, my baby blanket, my first teddy bear--destroyed; my beautiful blue walls--axed; my mother's china, my brother's baseball hat, my sister's Snoopy collection, my youngest brother's trophied beanie baby collection, my father's biblical library... All of it changed, whether by smoke, water, or the fire itself--none of it salvagable, none of it comforting, all of it ours.
I grabbed my camera, which was miraculously not damaged, and began shooting roll after roll of film. I captured the most tragic of scenes with my simple 35 mm. During this time, a flurry of activity from the most eclectic group you'll hear of encompassed my home. Neighbors, pastors, friends, family members, people from church, my band director: all gathered to board up my house and attempt to remove what we could take with us as the twilight filled with darkness, and the chill in the air choked back tears.
We stayed in a motel that night--six people of my family in two rooms just big enough for two, but we were happy to sleep. I know that I hoped when I woke up I would walk to the kitchen and say, "Mom, I had a terrible dream..."
But when I woke up I still reeked of smoke, as did everyone and everything that we touched from the previous night. All of it reminiscent of anything materialistic by which we may have once defined our lives. Strange how that all changes in one day...
My two younger brothers and I all attended school the next day, but I guess that's not really surprising, at least for me, because I'm the kind of kid that had to have her mom order her to stay home, unless she was truly debilitated. I didn't have any clothes to wear. Mine were destroyed, on the whole, because my bedroom was right above the living room (which was the main room of the fire). I wore gray sweatpants that came just to my calves and my brother's black sweatshirt. By chance, I had been wearing a warm coat the day of the fire, so I was okay in the cold. My brothers weren't so lucky. When they bolted from the house, they weren't concerned with wearing coats (I'm surprised they got my dogs out without trouble).
I won't detail all the sobbing and quiet stares that I endured through the school day. Nor will I detail the following days, weeks, and months that are now compiled, on this day, to equal one year. Living in a rented house, with rented furniture, in borrowed clothes, on the receiving end of stale niceties; feeling so uprooted (and on a personal level) in my senior year. No prom pictures in front of my house, no place to call my own; leaving "home" for college without a place to call home, missing the move back into my home. Watching and waiting with growing anticipation and, at times, anger as my life is reconstructed, recapsulated, regrown, re-purchased, rebuilt before my very eyes.
I know, house fires happen all the time. But it never seems real until it's happening to you. It used to be one of my biggest fears, that my house would burn down. I kind of miss fearing it now. I'm getting better with fire whistles, alarms, drills, and the such; as for actual fire, that, too, has also been one of my greatest fears in life, and I'm no better with it that I used to be (if not worse, by some measures).
February 18th, 2003 will always be a special day to me. It's not a birthday, it's not a holiday. It's the day one of the most life-changing events in my short eighteen years of existence--it's the day my house burned down. (The link is to the newspaper article about the story.)
Posted by KarissaKilgore at February 18, 2004 12:15 AM
Comments
Karissa,
I'm so sorry that you have to remember the 18th as not a happy holiday, but as a tragic event. I read your whole story and I pictured every individual part. The ending, the newspaper story, and the pictures made me start to cry. It was brave of you to tell your story for us all. I love you Karissa!
Posted by: Firefighter Chica at February 18, 2004 10:16 AM
I read it. I'm here if you need me.
Posted by: Amanda at February 18, 2004 10:28 AM
Your experience reminds all of us of the human dimension behind all the tragedies we read about in the news. Knowing that nobody in your family was hurt must be a relief, but the psychological impact of having your surroudings change so suddenly and so irrevocably is still very powerful.
Posted by: Dennis G. Jerz at February 18, 2004 10:49 AM
Im glad that there was not too many people in the computer lab when i sat in the middle of it and began to cry. Karissa, i don't know what to say because i am lucky enough to have never encountered a situation such as this, or even one concerning the death of a family member.I have lived a sheltered life, yet it still hurt me, because i could feel your pain, that was very touching and very powerful, i am here to listen if you need anything....oh yeah, and karissa, *HUGS*
Posted by: Lori at February 18, 2004 1:06 PM
I know what you mean. My house burnt to the ground when I was younger and I'll never forget coming down the road and around the corner and seeing a big pile of smoldering black rubble where my house use to be. It is very devastating to say the least.
Posted by: sherry at February 18, 2004 2:17 PM
Hey! I remember my mom telling me about happened. I'm sorry about everything... If you need everything, I'm here...
Posted by: Beth at February 18, 2004 4:10 PM
Karissa-
Not much for me to say, other than I still have not forgiven myself for flipping on you before you left practice. I know it seems small, but Icant forget it. I am glad that everyone is here and I am glad that I could help you through it all. I love you, you are my best friend and always will be :)
-Sarah
Posted by: Sarah at February 18, 2004 5:38 PM
I was there. I saw the fire start, I saw it burn and I will never forget that sight. I have cried today as well. I hugged our brothers just to give thanks that we all made it out okay 1 year ago and sat and talked with our mom as we both recalled that horrid day. I know it effected us all, that we all dealt with it in our own way, but in the end we made it. Just goes to show how strong our family really is and that no matter what we will survive. I love you sis.
Posted by: Katrina - your sis at February 18, 2004 7:13 PM
*Gasp* There's not much more that I can say other than I'm glad you and you family are ok....
Tiff
Posted by: Tiffany at February 19, 2004 1:20 PM