This Day . . . .

I almost forgot it.  In fact, I just started thinking about it a few days ago and thought, "Gee, I'm to the stage that it doesn't play such a prominent role in my memory this time of year."

Forget that.

Every day of this past week, I've been consumed with getting the big jobs of Christmas completed in time to enjoy a few days of the holiday season.

And, I've stayed on task.  Filling cookie plates and gift baskets are all that remain, along with taking some time to sit down and fully enjoy reading this year's batch of Christmas cards. 

With each day of this intense holiday planning, though, I think about Dec. 20, and,  now that it has arrived, I think about the fire that destroyed our home and just about every personal possession we owned at the time. 

I guess one never erases such events from one's life, especially "the day."

"The day" on Dec. 20, 1984, was frigid, icy and stormy. We still had school, and I remember slipping and sliding while trying to direct the red Ford pickup to our morning stops.  Bill was in Louisiana for his father's funeral. 

It was the last full day before Christmas break, a day at school filled with upbeat conviviality and delicious calories from start to finish.  

We were----well, at least I was that afternoon----singing a Christmas carol as I drove with Willie and Annie north on Boyer, turning on Baldy Road and soon seeing an inferno off in the distance to the northwest.

Within seconds, I realized exactly where those flames reaching high into the sky were originating----that was our house.  

I still don't know how I managed to keep that pickup on the icy road while driving more than a mile to get to our driveway.  I'm sure a power from above guided me. 

The day, the losses, the emotions-----feel like just yesterday whenever this calendar date rolls around every year. 

It's a memory of a terrible, life-changing event, but each year's reminiscence of standing in our driveway sobbing like a baby  as neighbors did everything possible to comfort us and to save what they could, seeing the horrified look of my son's eyes as he watched the destruction from up in the willow tree, the steady drove of people coming to my parents' driveway that night and the next day and the next, handing me checks or plates of cookies with sad expressions and giving me comforting hugs . . . .and so on. 

It was life changing, and, after experiencing such a giant, significant blip on life's timeline,  one goes forward,  knowing that possessions are helpful but pretty minimal in the grand scheme of things.  

A singular lesson on the goodness of humanity---that's what stands out about the day for me. Always has, always will. 

So, every time I reflect on the kaleidoscopic events of "this day," which apparently will never allow me to forget, a feeling of gratitude overpowers the sadness and the challenges associated with the loss. 

One other thought occurs, too:  the desire that when this day in 2013 ends, it will end without incident.

Happy Friday.  Be safe.