November 15, 2011
Dear Friends,
One of the great privileges of writing Burning Down the House is receiving letters and emails from people all over the world. I hear from an incredible range of folks who have experienced some kind of great loss – be it a home, a spouse, a loved one, or a way of life. One person, who is currently battling terminal cancer, wrote, “I’m not sure why, but reading about how you are handling your loss gives me the strength to get up every day and face my own.” This letter made me cry, and still does.
It is an honor to hear from readers about their own loss and renewal, and from time to time, I’ll be sharing their letters on this blog. This is the first of those stories, from a local artist named Anastasia Horwith.
I met Anastasia right after we both lost homes in the Four Mile Canyon Fire last year. Her rented house burned down, and she didn’t have insurance, so she truly has lost everything. She sent me this note, which so moved me that I asked her if I could share it with you. This is a glimpse into her story, and her amazing attitude about recovering from the fire.
Hi Andi,
We met, briefly, at the art event up at Chautauqua after the fires. I was still moving through the brain fog, and the brief connection with someone else who had lost their home was heartening to me. You provided a camaraderie that only a fellow survivor could. Thank you, kind lady.
After finding a (very cool) place in town to rent, it didn’t take very long to move in (no moving trucks needed this time!) We are still living with a coffee table I found in a ‘free’ pile after a garage sale, I am still wearing my daughter’s roommate’s pants, and we still have things from the free store in our kitchen; all iconic reminders of the miracle that we – folks in all 169 homes – survived.
I believe there are miracles around us everyday – it is a glorious thing and I try to keep my sense of pure gratitude and wonder. We had just 20 minutes to get out that morning, and not one minute more. I think we may have been one of the first to burn. We left with the clothes on our back, our daughter and dogs. My neighbor, who had come knocking on our door telling us to ‘Go now!’ ended up having to run through the woods on foot for a couple of miles to survive. It was crazy. It wasn’t until a few days later that I realized we would never have made it out if the fire had been just a few hours earlier. If we had been sleeping, by the time the smoke alarms went off it would have been way too late. Each day, I am so, so, so grateful to be alive.
As scary and terrible as the fires were, I have learned many things as a result. The incredible kindness of strangers has been so touching. It really restores my faith in the goodness of people. Total strangers sent us money, offered us their homes, gave us furniture… And then there were the free stores, staffed with some of the nicest and kindest people ever. It was hard to go to those stores, I could only go on days when I felt fairly strong, but it certainly helped us early on when we couldn’t even think. I was never a person who felt like I needed a lot of ‘stuff’, although in 50-ish years, I had accumulated quite a lot. Now I realize I need very little. It will take a long time to find the little ‘treasures’ and fun things for the house, but we have everything that we need. Life is good.
I wish you blessings and pure goodness in your life, I am excited for your new house and all our new lives……….love your blog, it really touches my heart!
I am attaching one of my new paintings. I wanted to share it with you because it is about gaining momentum and the powerful energy of going forward, and finding joy in our new lives.
Hugs,
Anastasia
You don’t need to know someone to understand them when you’ve shared an experience like this. I’m glad you two found each other and reflected strength that comes from a shared loss that is different, yet very much the same. Not being alone in a traumatic event, even though it widens the tragedy, is its biggest gift.
Anastasia, I just moved to live near the sea and your painting speaks to my heart. Beautiful.
So true, Debbie. Thanks for your wise words.
Wow! What an amazing story of tragedy, grace, and fortitude! The painting itself is full of these things. Thank you both for bringing this to me (and so many others)!
And thank you for stopping by, Gregorio. Always nice to hear from you!
What resonated for me in Anastasia’s letter was finding out she needed few things to be happy. I have never lost all I own in a fire, but I often contemplate how I can simplify my life and connect more with what gives me joy. Though unexpected and difficult, I wonder if one experiences an unburdening as well? Did either of you stop and think, “Wow, I’m free of stuff,” and feel different than you’ve ever felt before? As much as I love my home and my stuff, I sometimes catch a whiff of being truly free from it all.
The other aspect is that there are SO MANY extra things in our world, so much abundance. Enough and more apparently to re-fit 169 households. That’s truly amazing and worthy of reflection.
Anastasia, your painting is beautiful. I love all the color and mastery in your incoming wave, and I also appreciate the interpretation you provided. Might it also signify an overwhelming event that you have successful learned to navigate?
Thanks, Andi, for sharing this with us.
Hi Margaret, Thanks for stopping by. Yes, the unburdening and grief-stricken feelings of loss are quite mixed, and a real roller coaster. I talk about that more in the essay, “The Poetry of Loss,” which can be found here https://burningdownthehouseblog.com/the-poetry-of-loss.
It is like losing anything that requires responsibility I think – kids growing up and moving away, for example. You think you’ll feel, “ah, so free!” and in reality, there is a strange silence, an awkward unburdening to which you must adjust. When you lose all your stuff, you lose some unwanted clutter, but also all your “old friends,” the things that shape and support and mark your life. “Stuff” can feel like a burden, like any other responsibility, but it takes stuff to make a life. I talk about that in this essay as well, https://burningdownthehouseblog.com/old-friends-new-friends.
Since the fire I have moved four times. Each time I’ve started to pack my now-meager possessions, I’ve started to have that old feeling of, “Oh, god, look at all this stuff, and all these boxes. What do I need this for? Why do I have all this?” I realize it is just a habit of mind that I need to change. Now I bless my stuff, I relish in the abundance that has brought all these little things to my door. “Look at all these boxes! Yay! Life has brought me ‘stuff’ to help me make a new life.” I think we can take this attitude to our material possessions if we want to. Like money, stuff acquired thoughtfully and used well is a blessing. I think our “stuff” is like our friends – some come and go, some are with us forever, and it’s important to choose wisely.
Happy Thanksgiving, and enjoy this day of Gratitude!
– Andi
This post is just what I needed to hear today after being buried in hospital bills and all kinds of issues of loss this morning. It’s good for me to be reminded that a human being can lose all their possessions and still be a human being.
Lori, Thanks so much for reading and commenting. I’m so thankful that reading the post helped. My thoughts are with you – sounds like you’re going through a lot. Hang on, take it in small chunks, keep putting one foot in front of the other. I have a card on my kitchen counter that a friend sent me last year that says, “It does not matter how slowly you so, as long as you do not stop.” One day at a time, one hour at a time, keep breathing. I’m sending you lots of good thoughts and blessings. Happy Thanksgiving!
– Andi
Very touching letter, Anastasia. Wishing you blessings always.
Thanks for stopping by, Laurel!
Thank you for sharing Anastasia’s letter, Andi, and her painting is absolutely gorgeous! I’m so grateful for this stunning blast of light and love.
Thanks Laurel and Gail, faithful readers and comment contributors! I’m thankful for the both of you.
I share in all that Anastasia is grateful for, but I get to revel in the additional celebration of being married to her. Thank you, Andi, for providing this blog. And thank you, Anastasia, for saying yes. You never stop amazing me.
Michael, what a lovely comment. I hope all is going well for your family, and have a wonderful Thanksgiving. Take good care,
Andi
At first I thought that painting was a photograph. Both the painting and the post are lovely.
Thanks for stopping by, Beth. And hang in there with your own challenges. Sending good thoughts, Andi
Touching. Both letter and painting. Where can I find more of your art work?
Hi Jenn, Thanks for reading and commenting. I’ll forward your contact information to Anastasia. She’ll have a web site up soon, featuring more of her work.
Dear Andi:
I am a student of the internet; always researching something or trying to find answers to my extensive and ever changing list of questions. As I comb through the contents of the ‘world wide web’ on my answer-seeking missions, my A.D.D. kicks and I suddenly find myself 15 links away from my original intent.
This is how I found you, Nellie and the story of you rebuilding your lives after enduring such devastating loss.Although I have never experienced a loss – a fire – such as yours, I have endured many losses, and barely survived others, during my 44 years on this earth.
What struck me so profoundly about your story is how anyone who has suffered a loss of any kind begins the healing/rebuilding process from the same place. On the bottom of the deepest ocean, without air, struggling slowly and painfully to the surface with one thought in mind; to breathe. To fill your lungs with gulp after gulp of air in an attempt to erase from your memory the idea that you almost drown…and the fleeting image of actually wanting to…
Stumbling upon your blog today was serendipitous because I am once again experiencing a great loss in my life — and it is a loss unlike any other I have ever encountered — and a loss I am not so sure I can either endure, or survive.
My uncertainty stems, I believe, from my feeling as though my faith is on shaky ground – because I am standing on the perimeter of my life, peering in, watching it unravel and wondering how the hell it all comes down to ‘this’. To ‘this’ tick mark on the line of my life that whispers,” ‘this’ is all there is…’this’ is it…”
I am planning to read your blog in its entirety and follow you and Nellie as you continue moving in a forward direction. My hope is I will find other ways to not only deal with my losses but to be able to tuck them away – even just a little bit – so I might stop continuously feeling like I am wearing my insides on my outside and being repeatedly dipped in a vat of acid.
My faith is being tested to the n’th degree – yet I have a tiny bit of hope that this too shall pass and I will emerge on the other side tougher,stronger and infinitely wiser.
Andi, this gem was in today’s mail. I thought immediately of you and Anastasia:
“My storehouse having been burnt down, nothing obstructs my view of the bright moon.” -Masahide, Zen poet
Dear Andi, I haven’t had the luxury of free time on the computer in quite awhile but I just read through the comments and am absolutely touched by the love and goodness and caring that is so evident in your readers. Thank you for the honor of being a guest on your amazing blog. I am truly humbled and grateful for the opportunity to post a little piece of my world here, the awesome response from your readers has totally made my day!