"As an anxious person battling catastrophic thinking, losing my house—and everything in it—to a fire was surprisingly not on the forefront of my mind. Sure, I was cautious. I always shut the dryer before leaving the house and wondered if I forgot to unplug my flat iron. Living in Florida, my biggest concern going into Labor Day weekend, 2024, was whether a tropical system would ruin our family plans. It certainly wasn’t having my life irrevocably altered in a matter of minutes, but that’s exactly what happened.
"I genuinely appreciate a product that almost makes you forget what the issue was in the first place."
On an early September morning, my family was jolted awake by an alarm. I woke up disoriented in my son’s bedroom, having found my way there in the middle of the night to help calm his fear of the dark. On high-alert, I registered the shrill sound of our glass break alarm—we were being robbed (or so I thought). I was panic-stricken as my husband ran to confront the potential intruder and was momentarily stunned when he instead shouted, “Fire!”
Everything after that was a daze.
Realizing Our Home Was On Fire
My husband kept screaming for me to get the fire extinguisher, which was in the garage. But to get to the garage, I had to go toward the fire. My instinct was to grab my two children and get them outside immediately. I have no recollection of grabbing my phone, but I must have because I managed to call 911.
Barefoot and in pajamas, I stood on my driveway with my boys as smoke started pouring out through the windows. Fear consumed me as I waited for my husband and dog to emerge. Given the catastrophic thinker that I am, my mind kept playing the scene from This Is Us where Jack survives the fire, only to die of a heart attack from smoke inhalation hours later. Upon hearing a loud bang, he emerged from the front door carrying our 30-pound Bernadoodle. Still barefoot and in pajamas, we threw everyone in the car and waited for what felt like an eternity, watching in disbelief as our home and memories burned.
Watching and Waiting
Three panicked 911 calls later, the fire department and police finally arrived, filling our quiet street with bright, flashing lights. I remember feeling helpless as the firefighters bravely stormed into our home. I called my parents in tears, sent messages to my still-sleeping friends, and tried to stay calm and comfort my boys.
Ten minutes. That’s all it took to lose almost everything. It’s not just losing a house—it’s the home and life we built. It’s the kids’ artwork hanging on the walls. Family heirlooms in the cabinets. It’s my pug’s favorite blanket that I slept with after she passed. It was my kids’ safe place—which they were abruptly ripped from in the middle of the night and have yet to return to.
“Ten minutes. That’s all it took to lose almost everything. It’s not just losing a house—it’s the home and life we built.”
It felt surreal when we were permitted to go inside to see the charred remains. While the fire was contained to an area of the house, the smoke damage was extensive. There was not a single crevice of the house that wasn’t covered in soot and ash. The rooms, which held all my favorite memories, were now black. The walls and ceilings that kept us safe were now deteriorating, and our floors were flooded and covered in soot and broken glass. Our house was deemed unlivable, and we were officially displaced.
Processing the Loss
Nothing prepares you for the utter shock and grief that comes in the aftermath of suddenly losing everything—whether it’s a natural disaster or, in our case, an electrical fire likely caused by a product malfunction. One minute you’re sound asleep in the safety of your home, and the next you’re wandering braless in Target in your mother-in-law’s clothes so you can purchase the bare necessities for your family.
“One minute you’re sound asleep in the safety of your home, and the next you’re wandering braless in Target in your mother-in-law’s clothes so you can purchase the bare necessities for your family.”
Yet in the face of unimaginable hardships and emotional distress, I was most unprepared for how to react to the outpouring of love and support from family, friends, and our community and how everyone—even people I’ve never met—showed up for us. From my friend who drove to my still burning house to bring my kids water, snacks, and toys to our family, friends, neighbors and colleagues donating clothing, food, backpacks, and money to help get us back on our feet. The outpouring of love and support was overwhelming.
Before this experience, I didn’t know many others who had been personally affected by a house fire, but we quickly learned that we became members of a secret club nobody wants to be in. It was shocking to hear how many other people I know had experienced this tragedy at some point in their lives. From my pediatrician and colleagues to a parent in my son’s class who still harbors the childhood trauma of losing her home. Losing a family house in a fire is more common than I realized.
“I was most unprepared for how to react to the outpouring of love and support from family, friends, and our community and how everyone—even people I’ve never met—showed up for us.”
As the world watched the horrors of the Los Angeles wildfires unfold earlier this year, I couldn’t help but empathize with the people who had to flee their homes only to return to ashes. The level of destruction and loss is unfathomable.
Where We Are Five Months After Losing Our Home to a Fire
It’s been five months since the fire, and our house is still frozen in time. The check-ins and support that we were accustomed to in the early days following the fire have since receded—as it naturally does in the aftermath of a tragedy—but our struggles to recover and trauma are still very present. I see this happening to the communities in Los Angeles. The fires are contained, and the media cycles have moved on, but the people impacted are still very much in it and in need of support from those who are able to assist.
“Our struggles to recover and trauma are still very present. I see this happening to the communities in Los Angeles. The fires are contained, and the media cycles have moved on, but the people impacted are still very much in it and in need of support.”
Despite our loss, we are the lucky ones. Though we’re still in the throes of trying to rebuild while fighting an uphill battle with insurance, this experience has helped us appreciate what is truly important in life—family, friends, and community. Our house may have perished, but we did not. My family is safe. Everything else is just… stuff.
Erica Greenfield, Contributing Writer
Erica Greenfield is an advertising and communications professional and freelance writer. In addition to The Everymom, Erica’s work has appeared in various publications, including Huffington Post and Motherwell.