On Monday, 4 weeks ago, my Aunt got a quick knock on the door from a panicked neighbor and her dog. Due to record breaking winds, power lines were dropping like flies in their small community in Oregon, sparking, and sending flames jumping through trees and across rivers. My Aunt calmed her neighbor, grabbed the dog and shoved a duffle in her hands. ‘Go pack’. She and my uncle did the same, filling small overnight duffles with nothing more than a change of clothes, some make-up and a toothbrush. 15 minutes later, they hopped in their truck together and drove out of their small woodsy neighborhood to spend the night with a friend.
The next morning, the contents of those duffles were all they had left. Literally. Overnight, fire swept up the canyon, destroying 80% of the homes and businesses in their community of Gates, Oregon. They called up friends 5 hours away and spent the next week wrapped in their goodness while also trying to wrap their heads around what just happened.
Fires continued to rage and access to their community was closed. Their daughter in law scanned the internet for any information she could gather regarding their home; peoples videos, news segments, neighbors posts. Slowly, info began to surface confirming the devastation they all feared. Done. Gone. Literally burned down to the ground.
“Words weren’t even there at that time”, my Aunt shared when I spent the morning with her 2 weeks ago. “But, also, neither were tears. It’s all felt very bizarre.”
And bizarre it is. Bizarre that the entire contents of a house can be reduced to ash and debris and fit in the crawl space beneath the foundation. Bizarre that one needs rubber boots to walk on their carpet and tile. Bizarre that one can step into their garage without actually stepping ‘into’ anything. Bizarre that a spare key is still hiding under a rock on the front porch, while the door it unlocks no longer exists. Bizarre that on the corner of the block there is a house standing, untouched by the disaster. Bizarre.
And bizarre that, despite their loss, they have to spend hours and hours on the phone with insurance companies and managing government complexities. They have to clear their own property and take care of all their own burnt trees. They have to find new ‘temporary’ places to live with the added uncertainty of how much they can even spend on those ‘temporary’ places. The amount of decisions that have to be made during this time is so astronomical they haven’t really even stopped to process the devastation.
“I think I’m just too exhausted,” she sighs when asked if she’s cried, yet. “And, I also realize we are far better off than those people right now,” she says as we pass by a burial service taking place outdoors in the rain at a roadside cemetery.
And that mindset has blown me away; their honest assessment of how fortunate they are. Their generosity in the midst of their own suffering is astounding. They have offered to donate to others in their community and neighboring communities. They have offered to pay for hot meals at restaurants while others are actually begging to pay for their meals. But, that has also led to a realization of their own pride and the need to set that down. “People want to help. We’ve realized that despite how fortunate we are, we also need to allow people to respond however they see fit. We need to just set down that pride and say, ‘Yes, thank you for buying me lunch’. And as hard as that has been, we are kept afloat by the outpouring of that tangible type of love.”
Before traveling to see them, I was in a discussion with a friend, a firefighter, who said, “Yeah. Seen it too many times. But, it’s just stuff. They’ll figure out what needs to be salvaged from their old life and move forward.” Although not meant to be harsh, I can honestly say I was a bit irritated at that comment. My aunts house burned down to the ground and all you can say is, ‘It’s just stuff’?
But, she actually saw it that way, too, for the most part, and I’m more than impressed with her outlook. Despite thinking about a few nostalgic things like years of intricate floral cross stitched art that decorated her kitchen, 25+ journals filled with travel stories, and the medals her father earned during the war, she confidently said, “These are only things, Sweetie, only things. What we need, we have in us.”
