The story of my housefire 2019

Of course I didn't end up doing much reading in the early evening. Nana came over and visited, I had a special and unexpected phone call, mom and I watched our ridiculous realty TV, and Jossy and I couldn't seem to stop talking about how in love we were with music, memories, candies, everything. It's some time after eleven and I'm bundled up in my sweats, fuzzies, slippers, and Sherpa. I'm here now--on the balcony--reading.

There's something so special about this book that asks its reader to listen to a very particular collection of songs. In the midst of my falling in love with this book, whilst breathing these songs in through my chilled ears, I was struck by lightning. For a familiar melody kissed the tip of my ear and then filled me as if to say, "Remember me?" Yes.

I've been grieving for something that I never quite grieved for at all. A year ago, this weekend my house caught fire. My childhood photos, my mountainous collection of books, my home were taken. I've been groundless since. And that gift that touched my ears, on this playlist I'd not known at all because it came with the book, was a song that I'd heard for the first time a year ago this week. It was the song that I'd played on repeat the day of the fire.

Each year I ask the night sky to send me magic in the form of music. The stars that the moon sends me are collected in a jar on my windowsill while I sleep, and in the morning I compile them into what becomes the year's best mix: The Fall Playlist. It always has "pumpkin" in the title and spins soft, emotional, sweeping indie, or as mom calls it, "indy". This song held the first spot on my fall playlist last year. And when it came on, I was overcome with emotion.

I'd spent the day driving through town, feeling the weight of knowing that I'd be gone by Christmas day, the day that my lease ends and it's time to say goodbye to my fifth home in the last two years. I'd been crying today, feeling physical pressure underneath my heart.

When this song came on, something happened. I smiled. I wanted to dance. It began with a bit of swaying in my seat until I couldn't take it anymore and had to swing on the balcony with all of my being. Compelled by the music and the memory of my bedroom, my sanctuary where I'd listened to it before on that big, red CD player, my old life, my old home. I feel good now, better.

October 5, 2020

(A note that I wrote last Monday)

On October 11, 2019, two cars full of my friends and pizza and crazy bread drove up the mountain to spend the weekend at Kiley’s cabin. We listened to silly music, and spent the evening reading “Zodiac Signs As...” posts on Tumblr.

And then I got a call from a neighbor friend. she said, “Dude, is that your house?” I was very confused and asked her what she meant. She said, “I think your house is on fire.”

It didn’t seem possible to me. I distinctly remember thinking, No way. It couldn’t be mine. And then she FaceTimed me and I saw the flames from my own roof. My friends were all circled around me, mouths left open as if they'd been forgotten, eyebrows yanked in worry and empathy. They were just staring at me, who was frozen and crying silently. The tears were endless and so quickly streaming that it was impossible to tell where one would end and the next would begin. I could feel that. We had just been rolling in laughter a minute ago. And then two angels drove me home.

I don’t remember the way back. It seemed like it had only taken a minute, not forty or however long or however long it actually did. When I got out of the car to move my suitcase and cabin stuff into my own car, I was overwhelmed with this feeling: This is all that I have. This sounds so dramatic to me now, but it was so raw then.

In my pajama pants and heavy coat, I walked down the sidewalk on the other side of the street, my face in my hands, just sobbing and staring at my house. It was overcome by orange. Firetrucks were in the spot that I always park in. There were two huge trucks connected to two hoses that showered my home with water. Immediately, my neighbors, the sweetest family in the world, saw me. The older boy wrapped his arms around me and the group of them led me to my mom. That meant so much. Those people have held a special place in my heart since. I took the son that‘s my age, Braxton, to Sweethearts and it‘s one of my favorite memories from high school. He is such a gem.

Mom and I sat in the car and cried and then stopped crying. We tried to figure out where to go from there. It was starting life over from scratch. We didn’t know how bad the damage would be, if anything would be salvageable. It looked bad. I’m so grateful for and stunned by my kitty-corner neighbor. She was the first person to see the fire and ran inside to make sure no one was in there.

Moose had been in the backyard, hiding in the corner farthest from the flames, and when my mom got there, she immediately ran to the gate to let him out. He was so terrified that he didn’t even know it was her and ran right past her. If you know Moose, you know that he loves my mom more than anything. It’s abnormal at best. He really didn't couldn't even grasp anything but getting out of there. The fire had started in his dog house and then spread to ours.

I remember the firefighters coming up to me once the fire had finally been put out. We were walking through the house, grabbing a few of our treasures that weren’t ruined, and a couple of them had said, “I’m sorry this happened.“ I told them, “It’s just stuff. We'll be okay.“

(Moose curled up as tight as he could, traumatized. The fire just after it had started. The firetrucks)

That's how I was from the start.

Mom and I moved into my cousin's old bedroom at my uncle's. Nana, who lives in his basement, took such good care of us. I had candy; cookies; and rich, homemade dinners all the time. I discovered "Cookie Run" and played it 25/8. That was just what the doctor ordered. For the first few days, I felt shaken up and a bit pained, but I never really grieved. Not the way that normal people grieve. I don't think I went through the stages of grief from Steel Magnolias and eighth grade health class. I don't think I experienced denial, anger, or bargaining. There was nothing that I could do, so I was just shocked, depressed, and then accepting.

It took me a long time to realize that. Somehow, I never quite understand where my odd little symptoms come from--about anything! The truth is that I'm such a baby girl. I'll be so grumpy: not having an appetite for my usual passions, impatient, easily frustrated--and spend the day wondering why. Then, when I'm climbing into bed, or some little reminder, like the moon, pays me a visit, I realize that I was grumpy because I didn't get enough sleep! Sometimes I spend the week craving everything, low on energy, and super moody. Again, I wonder why. Then, I realize that it's moon day. Every single month, this seems to happen. I'm so oblivious to things like that. So I didn't realize what was happening to me after the fire. Now that I think about it, I actually did get sick after we moved in. I woke up in the middle of the night, so sick.

There were so many days that I woke up and just didn't want to get out of bed, get out of the air mattress stuffed into the corner of the room, not my room. There were so many days that I felt empty, but didn't know that it came from everything I didn't recognize I was missing. My favorite dresses, shoes that could be worn in the Winter (I didn't take any), my box full of receipts and tickets that were tied to memories, were all gone. I couldn't take comfort in what I'd always taken comfort in. It hurt and I didn't even know. I had just fallen so in love with my home. Mom and I had spent the weekend before painting and putting up all kinds of Halloween decorations. We'd both said to each other, "Finally. It's starting to feel like home." And then it was gone.

Our home before the fire

My room each morning, my routine. I'd have berries and granola at 5am, and just read or relax before getting ready for school.

Please ignore my silly gum chewing in that video and this one, whoops! It must've been a new piece.

And after

I used to be scared that I must have been some kind of psycho because I didn't grieve normally. I thought it must've meant that I was heartless or simply crazy. Or maybe I'd bottled it up, and that's why I didn't grieve. Maybe that was why I would tear up out of nowhere or be so content one minute, and lifeless in the next.

Looking back now, one year later, I see so much that was invisible then. These last few weeks have been full of memories and heartache. A lot has happened and a lot has risen to the surface. I realize now that after the fire, thorns grew from my stem. Before, I'd been a pink carnation, soft and sweet. Afterward, I was a rose. There's something about me now. I couldn't stand it at first, because I loved to be innocent and dainty. Now I'm grateful. Mom and I haven't quite seen a big purpose for the fire having happened, but we know it was for a reason. That's why I didn't grieve in the beginning. I knew that good would come out of that. We both have thick skins now. Truly, a lot of tough stuff has happened in the last few years--hence living in five different houses.

I started writing this post on October 11th, and hadn't even realized it. I'm still sick, and honestly I think it's a physical manifestation of the wounds that are hidden inside of me. They haven't quite healed and I don't think I've really let them. I have a really strong immune system, and sickness has always been from an emotional place for me.

Leading up to the end of September, I was nannying thirty hours a week and doing at least thirty hours of school. It was stressful. On top of that, this is the anniversary. Seeing the leaves changing, everyone's Halloween decorations waking up from their long sleeps in their garages, and my people speaking in General Conference (a biannual broadcast from my church), has stirred some soup in my soul. I truly think that being sick has been my body telling me that it needs me to stop. At times that I have been feeling better and have wanted to jump up and get moving, my body has rebounded and said, "Get back in bed, woman!"

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There's a lot for me to work through. It's time for me to unpack my box of lost things and give them what they need. I'm a bottler, a box-er-upper. It's how I've always been, and these little wake-up calls have happened in the past. Just before I started my blog, actually, I had one. And I think that's quite crazy, because now we are heading into a new era of the blog.

All of this has made me realize that I'd been waiting for something to stop me in my tracks and say, Ally, it's time to get into the deep stuff. I've done a lot of surface level writing on here. We've had introductions to certain concepts like the Law of Attraction We've had advice and stories on how to be happy. But there is so much more. I had a big realization last week; It's been on my mind every day since. That's what the next post will be about.

We're about to get really deep. We're about to start talking about outrageous things. I'm going to be vulnerable here. This is where it started.