Fire Survivor Is Thankful but Not in a Mood to Celebrate Anniversary

The anniversary of the Laguna Beach firestorm is here. Celebrations are planned by the city of Laguna Beach, and by several organizations to go on for days, beginning on the actual date, October 27. I am not in a celebrating mood, except for the fact that my husband and I are grateful that we did survive. So did our neighbors.

But our lives didn’t. Our homes and everything in them are gone, and I still feel a sadness. I believe that we were semiconscious the first few months, and now as I try to remember, it is all a fog: the blue-gray smoke, throwing things into a suitcase, grabbing photos of grand parents and children off the wall, feeling my chest and my throat tighten as we found it difficult to breathe.

It took three days before we knew our house was gone, a heap of ashes. The firemen said it was too hot up there to let us through. So we stood on Main Beach, two days after the fire and stared up through binoculars lent by a friend. I refused to believe what my husband said he saw. I think they call it denial. The next day, standing in front of the place I had lived for 22 years, all I could think of was what a beautiful view. What a pity that house, with mementos from 48 years of marriage, was nothing now but a chimney etched against the still blackened sky.

Friends called and took us in. If it were not for them, helping agencies and the kindness of perfect strangers, I am sure I would have been in a deep depression. Not for the loss of belongings, but the irreplaceable nostalgic things that now have to live only in my memory.

I do still grieve for the movies of our four sons growing up, and pictures of special holidays when our family was all together. I still look in the closet for the red wool suit my husband bought me in Vienna many years ago. It is no longer there. I miss the first watercolor and India ink drawing of a Victorian house my artist-son created in the 11th grade and proudly presented to us. I feel sad that the china I wanted to give to a granddaughter did not survive. Those are all “just things”--material possessions, but they are so much more.

It was a lesson in humility to have to go to the Presbyterian church and look for shoes to wear and a sweater to keep out the cold. Friends and local merchants gave me things to wear and soon I had an adequate but eclectic wardrobe. We lived in a rented house for nine months, a “Laguna charmer,” and I remember how amazed I was that I couldn’t find the fly swatter or a Band-Aid or my cookie sheet because they just weren’t there.

Every day, it seems we thought of something else we lost and thought we couldn’t live without. But we did. And we waited and waited to get a permit. Because we were in Mystic Hills, where a “possible ancient landslide” might have taken place, it has taken many months to ascertain if there would be a hazard in rebuilding on many of the lots, ours included. When nine months had passed with nothing resolved, we decided we had to get on with our lives. So we took our money from the insurance and bought a house.

I like it here in my new abode. But periodically I get guilt feelings that I am not going through the aches and pains that go with building a house, as so many of my neighbors are. We had the plans for our house that my architect son had completed and city staff had approved, and I was excited about seeing it become a reality. But really, how long can you wait?

A year has passed and so much has changed. I was angry for weeks wondering why our life had to be disrupted in our so-called “golden years.” Angry too because I had lost every article, every story I had ever written, magazines and newspaper clippings, with poems and articles I had published. There had been stress-filled days of insurance adjusters, visits to agencies to replace automobile pink slips and birth certificates, and to banks to replace checks. I was angry because we were waking up at daybreak before we had time to shop for curtains or blinds and the sun came streaming in.

I know now that was nothing to be angry about. It was an all-inclusive anger that included everything, and sometimes innocent bystanders like my husband. It took awhile to figure that all out.

One year later and we are planting fruit trees. My husband is playing his violin a lot (it was the first thing he rescued). I am unpacking boxes and hanging pictures. We both value whatever time we will have together now much more than before. We are more loving and more tolerant. We are more appreciative of our children and we savor every minute we have with our grandchildren. One thing for sure. We found out you can survive without a fly swatter, a cookie sheet or even Band-Aids.