On 18 January 1983, at 1330, we returned home after sleeping over at my Mom’s. My hubby at the time worked second shift. I’d gone to Mom’s during the day, and when he came to pick me (and the cat) up, we all got talking and decided to just stay there. He had to be to work at 1500, so we were home in time for him to dress and get ready.
The house, a little four-room cottage filled with hand me downs and wedding gifts, was our first home together. We’d been married 6 months. It was covered with snow, there were several feet against the side of the buildings- characteristic for mid-New England winter.
As we pulled into the drive, I saw a wisp of snow on the roof… it looked funny. It was grey. I suddenly realized what it was. Smoke. Smoke!
Well, 5 hours, 5 alarms, and countless firefighters later, there was nothing left. During all that time, people had been amazing… neighbors we hardly knew came out with blankets and warm drinks, for us and for firefighters. People tucked a folded 5 dollar or 10 dollar note into my numb hand or in my pocket as they hugged me, trying to reassure my numb heart.
And then, the fire was over. People left. I was standing looking at the fragments of our life and home all over the top of the driveway, just as black and broken and trampled as I felt. I felt the hot tears finally start running down my cheeks as the enormity of the task ahead hit me.
We had *nothing* material left at all. I had lost my textbooks. All our wedding gifts, our pictures, the precious little things you keep as mementos… I had my cat, my husband and… well, that was about it, it appeared. I didn’t know where my husband was: he was with his parents in a neighbor’s living room talking to the fire inspector who was explaining what had happened- the fire department had found faulty wiring as the cause. My father in law was a firefighter in a neighboring community so he wanted to know every detail. My parents were there too, horrified to hear that had we been home, we would have died as the fire started under the doorway to our bedroom. It had started as overheated lights soaked into tar coated beams, building a hot and smoking fire in the basement. We had smoke detectors, but who knows if in deep sleep we would have heard them in the basement.
So, there I stood, actually and emotionally alone, and oh, I felt it.
And, as I stood there standing looking at what had been my life, a firefighter came past with a hose reel… I looked at him, and whispered: “thank you”.
I will never forget him. His face was covered with soot coated ice. His face was black with soot, his red-rimmed eyes were fatigued. He was there on the first engine that arrived, he had been there for the whole fire.
He said “come here” and put his big arms around me. I burst into tears in the arms of this big wet dirty stranger, and he held me as I did. For the first time, I felt safe, I just knew for the moment in his arms nothing else bad could happen. I relaxed a bit, and when I did, the emotion poured out and I cried every tear I had so bravely held back during the preceding hours.
And then, he lifted my chin, looked at me and said words that helped that moment and in all those which would follow…”This is the worst part. But, from here, it gets better. Look forward to it getting easier, don’t hold on to today, live for tomorrow, let people help, they will. But, the loss is passed. Let it pass. There is something better coming.” He walked me over to the Red Cross van, he spoke to someone there, left some information, and kissed my forehead before he left.
The Red Cross lady made sure we had a place to stay, we had appointments for help… and she handed me a crumpled paper. It was sooty. She smiled, and I knew what was on the paper. He’d left his name.
And, he helped set up the fundraiser that buoyed us, held at the firefighter’s social club. He delivered boxes of “stuff he didn’t need” and “stuff some people had”. He called and asked how it was going. He helped deliver the donated sofa into the apartment one of his friends had and was willing to let us into without any money up front. I couldn’t prove it, by I was sure he was behind at least a few of the envelopes with 40–50 dollars that arrived in the door without a name.
He didn’t know us, but he became a friend… and one day I asked him why.
He said “When I saw you there, I could feel how alone you felt, and I couldn’t let you think that was all there was… I wanted you to have hope.”
And that gift of hope, that kindness from one stranger to another, got me through one of the most difficult days of my life. He was paid to be there to put out the fire, and that he did, but more… he made sure a fire for life stayed lit in me. His kindnesses extended beyond those words, but that in his exhaustion and after working so hard he still had the heart to reach out to me to make sure I wasn’t afraid still stuns me and has been in my heart when I have been the one standing by someone else with their life in ruins in front of them.
He died years ago, and I attended his wake- an open casket visiting hours affair. There was an honor guard from the fire department. He had been there for so many, and you know what? His wife never knew. He never told her. He never told his kids, three daughters, my age who looked on numbly at the body in the casket.
His wife never knew how he helped people rebuild … she sat in front of the casket, her brave eyes holding back tears as she too stared at what was once her life, and little by little all of us who he had helped encircled her, and we all told her how much he meant to us…
