The Lasting Memories of Fire & Smoke

#LAFires

Watching the Los Angeles fires takes me back to November 7, 1973. It was the night of my 9^th birthday. My parents, sister, dog, and one boy, the son of my parents’ physical education friends, sat near the hearth of our 1762 colonial fireplace to play a game with a fire roaring in our old fireplace. Our house had four of them, and the living room one was back-to-back with another one on the other side of the room.

“Time to go to bed,” my parents said as my sister and I moaned but obeyed, running one of the two stairs leading to the second floor. After celebrating my birthday, I was glowing as bright as the fire downstairs.

But in the dead of night, my father and mother rushed into our room, scooped us up in their arms, and headed down our staircase and out the back door. All I remember is a house full of smoke and fire spreading in the living room. My father dropped us off outside and ran back into the house, where he got the boy staying with us and our dog. Little did I know, our dog woke the boy, who ran up their staircase and woke my parents. If it wasn’t for him, we might have perished.

I remember being scared to death that my father would die in the fire going back inside. I yelled for him. He didn’t stop. A few minutes later, he returned. I remember the fire engine’s screaming horns and neighbors gathering outside with us. My sister and I stayed the night at one of their houses while our parents watched our house engulfed in smoke and fire.

The next day, I remember going to my 3rd-grade class and my teacher hugging me ever so tightly, trying to calm me down from the event. My school was across the street from our house, so everyone knew what happened. I will never forget her hug or the smell of smoke. I’ve hated the smell of it ever since.

After marrying my husband, we talked about how smoke evoked different emotions in us. He had fond memories of smoke from family campfires, outdoor hunting expeditions, and good times with his friends in the woods. I hate the smell. Instead, my smokey memories bring back the fear I felt that day of losing my father, my house, and my life. To this date, the smell stirs up horrible feelings.

As I watch the Los Angeles fires rage on, I can only think of how terrifying it is for all the adults and children who have lost their homes and who now might hate the smell of smoke and be scared of fire. It doesn’t fade away quickly, and with the magnitude of this horrendous tragedy, it never will leave their minds, hearts, or noses. I pray the families and especially the children are not traumatized by fire and smoke in the future, but I’m afraid they will.

So, anyone who knows of someone in LA who has experienced this devastation, remember their friend’s future sensitivity to something that pleases you. Be diligent in what they need to heal going forward – and maybe, just maybe, a candle, campfire, or burnt food on the stove might harm them more than you know.