Born From Fire

"Fire destroys. Fire transforms. Fire renews.

For me, it was all three.

I can still hear the crackle of burning wood, see the smoke curling into the night air, and feel the heat as I watched my home engulfed in flames. My children’s voices cut through the chaos—sharp, panicked—while we ran down a quiet dirt road to the safety of neighbors at four in the morning. The fire consumed not just a house, but the life I had been clinging to—the last fragile pieces of a world already in shambles."

"He looked directly at me to answer my father’s question, and said,

 “They’re your fucking kids. YOU take care of them.”

His eyes stared through me. The room went silent. In that moment, I knew the man I had married was gone forever. Not just absent—gone. Dissociated. Lost. Whatever love he once had for us was buried under addiction, rage, and most importantly his pride. 

He was too full of his ego to acknowledge how unreasonable and disrespectful he was being. It was almost as if he had trained himself over the years in his selfish ways, so that this night’s discussion came easily to him. He was ready to stand his ground. No shred of empathy, practicality, love."

"By this time though, I had grown practiced at answering those heartbreaking questions. I’d crouch down to their level, brush their hair back, and remind them softly (yet again) that Daddy was sick, that he loved them very much, and that I was hopeful he’d come around for the holiday. 

Saying those words tasted like ashes in my mouth. I wished so badly that I could have had more confidence in my answers. Consoling children as they try to process the thought of never seeing their father again is a cruelty I wish on no one. You’re forced to juggle your own rage and heartbreak while becoming a pillar of strength for your children. Because their world can’t collapse just because yours already has.

You must stand strong. They depend on you.

And so… I swallowed the truth."

 "Somehow, through the tears, the kids and I got the tree upright in our living room. Erecting a tree with just my 10 year old son was noticeably different than doing something like that with my husband. I must have had thoughts every other second about what should have been happening.. versus what was. 

We decorated, listened to music, and to the best of my ability, our tradition lived on. My children teared up off and on, aching for their daddy to be doing this with them as he had in years past. They’d bring up sweet memories that were now tainted with his departure. I responded the only way I knew how: I hugged them, steadied my voice as I’d comfort them, and I got that damn tree done. 

I stood tall even as I crumbled inside. Trauma is a cruel thief when you watch it etch itself onto your children’s faces in real time. A holiday as precious as this made it so hard to process such a loss. Where magic should have been, we had pain. It was like putting lipstick on a pig, this whole thing sucked.. even if my house looked adorable.

God I hated him."

 "No one could possibly be prepared to be woken at 4:30 a.m., and to react within minutes to save yourself, your three small children, three dogs, and a cat. Talk about fight or flight. Lucky for me, I was a pretty functional fighter.

It was the cold morning of December 10, 2019. I woke to my seven-year-old crawling into bed with me—something he and his brother did nearly every night. As I told him to crawl over me and snuggle in, I smelled smoke. I opened my eyes; even though they were sleepy, I was certain it was smoky in my room. My bedroom sat above the main-level living space with our wood-burning stove seated in the center to heat our home.

I grumbled my way downstairs to check the fire in the stove. We kept a bucket of powder next to the stove that my husband used to toss into the fire here and there to keep the chimney clean. Since he’d been out of the home for so long, I’d forgotten all about it."

"Those years were very difficult. I look back at them now and realize how much smoother life would have felt if I had been with a person I was compatible with. I used to hang my hat on my resiliency throughout the many arguments, mean comments and what I understand now to be emotional abandonment. I’d try countless times to resolve conflicts with my ex-husband while also sticking up for myself, however found that each argument would end in a stand off. Stonewalling and gaslighting."

"I felt like a phoenix rising from the smoldering ashes of my toxic life. My husband’s demonic, abusive, and destructive energy had gained so much momentum, that it resulted in a violent tornado that destroyed everything we had. As I emerged from that morning—smoky but unscathed—a new spark was lit, though I didn’t yet know it. 

Neither of us did. We didn’t foster or nurture it; it grew between us naturally. 

This was the morning I met my future husband.

***

Yes—the morning my house burned to the ground was when I shook hands with the man I would someday marry. The neighbor I had never met. The man who plowed my driveway and ultimately ensured I could escape and my rescuers could enter. 

He was an angel sent to me, and he would later tell me he felt I was sent to him too. Our connection was honest and pure, full of life—life we hadn’t realized was possible."