“The house is gone.” That was the message. We’ve all seen the footage on tv be it floods or fire…this one was the fires in Malibu. Figuring out the downbeat of the next day, hour, second, when everything is gone…this is what my friend and likely someone you know too is going through or has gone through.
In this case her house was where she and her husband had built a magical oasis, the home where their three children were raised, where my girlfriend made the meals that grew their good bones. The photographs on its walls were a testament to years of shared family adventures, its furniture was conversation inviting and sported unpretentious comfort. Her husband’s office reflected his renaissance spirit with a motorcycle, vintage guitars, an enviable book collection and a weighty desk…strong enough to absorb the thrashings of the superb writer he is. She had transformed her office into a sacred space, a portal to the higher spirit in her, in each member of her family and to all her thought rests on. The practical, esoteric and beautiful hummed along side each other in their home with uncommon grace and productivity. All of that gone now in a fearsome blaze, the rhythm of their lives, incinerated.
My ardent hope is that past the shock and massive disruption, past the loss and chaos will be a new home that serves their next chapters in life. That somehow ultimately this event becomes more of an opportunity than a loss. Just maybe the ash of rearranged molecules as they rain down, will speed the process of progress. I hope the potent haiku of “The house is gone” will be partnered with the equally potent haiku, “Welcome home.”