Thankful

At 4:00 a.m. on Thursday morning, I had just gotten fussy Catherine back to sleep. Usually, when our kids get up in the middle of the night, I take them. It takes me a while to settle down, because rarely, when I get up in the middle of the night, do I not think of the million things I have to do around the house, or at school, or with life in general.

As I was laying in bed, Eric snoring away beside me, Eric's phone started going off. Because he works around power tools all day, Eric has his ringer on full bore, and it was incredibly loud. Not wanting to wake Catherine, I woke Eric up as quickly and violently as I possibly could, hitting him on the back, saying, "You're phone is going off!" I was also incredibly confused as to why his alarm would be going off at 4:30 in the morning. Until he actually answered his phone, did I realize it was not his alarm, but someone was calling him.

It was his brother, Greg, who said, "I'm sitting outside of dad's house. It's on fire."

Immediately, we were both awake. Eric's family is such that if a fire had broke out, and had caused minimal damage, they would have waited until later that morning.

Eric, trying to understand what exactly Greg was saying, replied, "On fire?"

Greg said, "Yep. I'm watching the flames coming through the roof right now."

I can't even describe the absolute panic that enveloped me. This was Eric's childhood home. This was where we spent so many nights together while both attending Community College. This was where I watched Greg turn from a gangly, quiet, shy teenager into a grown man. This was where we had Christmases and birthdays.

I immediately began to cry.

When Jim got on the phone to talk to Eric, he said he had woken up disoriented. He smelled smoke and immediately threw on his jeans to investigate. He said the smoke was heavy, and he was having trouble breathing. He found his glasses on the couch, found the cat, threw him out the door and made his way downstairs, where the smoke was even worse. Jim threw on his shoes, walked out to his garage, drove out in his pickup and called 911. With not even a shirt on his back.

The house is a total loss. Eric said the front door, where you walk in, is melted. When you walk in and look up, the entire second floor is gone and the roof has caved in. The windows are busted out. The bathroom adjacent to the master bedroom, where Jim was sleeping, is decimated. The fire began in a fuse box just on the other side of that bathroom. The kitchen is gone. The living room where Eric and I spent so much time as a new couple, is gone. Everything is covered in ash, soot and water.

The only thing that Jim was able to salvage were a few things from his bedroom. The only room mostly untouched by fire was his bedroom and a back room. Both of those rooms furthest away from where the fire started.

I was in shock. All those personal belongings, completely gone. Family photos, heirlooms, memories. Everything was gone.

But Jim was ok. And that's what I'm most thankful for. Especially in these days preceding the anniversary of my dad's death. He was able to wake up and make it out. A guardian angel was looking after him that night.

The pictures and video that Greg sent of the house up in flames later Thursday morning were difficult to look at. All of those memories, and absolutely nothing left.

Not to mention, my father-in-law, a wonderful, wonderful person, completely displaced.

Eric went to help salvage what he could on Thursday afternoon, but there wasn't much. Jim's guns and ammo, which were untouched (thankfully). A couple of gifts he had received from his Godfather. Meatball, the cat that they have had for 12 years.

Devastated is a good word for it, but thankful is also a good word for it. Very, very thankful.