A Rest Between Measures

February 5th, 2012
Seventeen Months After the Fire

Dear Friends,

It’s a quiet Sunday evening here in Colorado. The weekend’s blizzard has covered everything in more than a foot of snow, and a winter stillness has fallen over our neighborhood.

Snow on the Back Porch of the Cottage at Chautauqua

This morning I went out to my back porch, coffee in hand, to look at the newly fallen snow.  As I stood there in my pajamas and big Sorel snow boots, I thought about shoveling off the porch, but instead decided to build Princess Nellie a snow castle, so she could see over the drifts into the meadow. I figured I’d play around in the snow a little, then get on with my long To-Do list for the day.

I picked up my snow shovel and started digging, and Nellie ran around wagging, wondering what I was doing. It was so much fun that I didn’t want to go back inside, so the little castle got more and more elaborate.  I added spires, turrets, and a little “moat” so other dogs couldn’t get in, and Nellie couldn’t get out. When the castle was finished, Nellie scrambled up and sat, contented, as if to say, “Finally!  An abode befitting my station.”

Nellie in Her Snow Castle

Nice View from Up Here!

I finally decided to go back inside, and climbed on to the couch for a little rest (really – architecture is an exhausting job!) and promptly fell asleep, with Nellie curled up at my feet. When I awoke it was late in the afternoon, and it was time to get up and get ready to go to a friend’s house for dinner.  I started to stir and Nellie opened one eye, then promptly put her head on my feet so I couldn’t move.  I said, “Nellie, I have to get up and get ready to go out.”  When I tried to move again, she crawled onto my chest, then lay down and closed her eyes with a long sigh, as if to say, “Oh, no you don’t. What you need is rest.”

Well, Dog usually knows best, so I called my friends and canceled. I got back on the couch with Nellie and realized how deeply exhausted I am from this process of recovering from the fire. At a meeting a few months ago, a woman who lost her home to fire several years ago, said, “Remember, you’re not even half way through this process. For most people, this takes years. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, so pace yourselves.”

A marathon; that was an apt description. I have been working on rebuilding my home for over a year, and it’s still behind schedule.  The insurance settlement alone took over a year. I’ve moved three times, and lived in three different rental houses. The piles of paperwork are still daunting, and there are still a million daily decisions to be made. And then there are those resurfacing feelings of grief, anger, and fear that I juggle each and every day.  I still search for things that aren’t there, and the momentary amnesia of loss strikes at odd times – “Where is my winter hat? It must be here somewhere… Oh, wait a minute…”

I am tired; right down to my bones.  It’s been a year and half, and for most people the Four Mile Fire is just a distant memory, one disaster among many in the daily news.  But for those of us who lost homes, neighborhoods, everything we owned – the process is still in full swing.  Only a handful of people have rebuilt, some are still trying to figure out if they’re going to rebuild or not, and some are still in shock, waiting for the emotional dust to settle before moving forward. Most of us are still displaced, or as one writer said, “we’re still traveling; we’re not yet home.”

I have been “traveling” for many, many months now. And I am tired. And Nellie knows this, as dogs do, and so she pins me to the couch and says, “Sit. Stay.” Sigh.

So I made a pot of tea and now I’m back on the couch, watching the full moon rise in the sky, and relishing the quiet.  Nellie is curled up on my lap, watching me, and when I look at her, she wags. “Good girl,” she seems to say, “Good, good girl.”

Sending you wishes for peaceful naps, puppy love, and sweet dreams,

Andi and Princess Nellie