It’s hard to go more than a few hours without seeing some sort of meme or graphic that describes 2020 as anything more than a dumpster fire. I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir when I say that at times, it’s truly felt that way. But then, there’s other times when life itself just feels a little like the kitchen has caught fire — a flame raging into the vent hood. It’s surprising, terrifying, and leaves you shaken, yet utterly thankful.
ASK ME HOW I KNOW…
It was April 2018, and was one of those days where it rains off and on, but just enough to be annoying. Brighten was about 18 months old and had fallen asleep in the carseat on the ride home from the grocery store. Since it was raining, I left her sleeping in the car (with the car on) while I brought the grocery bags into the house. Once I got Brighten out of the car, I stepped into our laundry room, turned the corner into our kitchen, and saw a huge flame soaring high above the stove.
I WAS IN SHOCK.
I was standing next to the backdoor, so I threw it open and set a half-asleep Brighten in the backyard, in the rain. I had my phone in my hands, I think, and I somehow simultaneously called 911 and ran back to the laundry room to get the fire extinguisher. While I was on the phone with 911, Brighten was standing outside, banging on the door crying for me. It was terrible and pitiful. I was able to put the fire out father quickly. As a white cloud of extinguisher dust mixed with grey smoke and filled my kitchen, I ran outside, still explaining the situation to the 911 dispatcher. As soon as we hung up and they had assured me a fire truck was on its way, I called Jason.
I had held it together throughout the whole ordeal, which probably lasted a total of 90 seconds, even though it felt like 90 minutes. As soon as I got Jason on the phone, I burst into tears. I was on our back patio, in the rain, holding my crying toddler, with tons of beeping and alarms going off inside my beautiful home, and I could not get the words out. I had no idea what our kitchen looked like under the white dust, and I had no clue what caused the flame to ignite in the first place.
Jason was already climbing in his car to come home when I finally calmed down enough to tell him what happened. I called my sister to come and get Brighten so that I could talk to the fire department, who arrived with a swiftness that was extremely comforting. I was shaking from head to toe, but I was safe, my daughter was safe, and the little life growing inside me that I didn’t know about yet (yep, I was pregnant with Grady, but had no idea) was safe. It was in those moments that I realized how incredibly thankful I was to be holding on to all that truly mattered to me in this world.
I’ve often thought about this day over the last seven months or so. How it’s such an accurate illustration of the world around us right now. Unpredictable, dangerous, terrifying, costly, uncertain, and unclear. I feel like this year has given me emotional whiplash, yet each day when I tuck my children into bed and kiss my husband goodnight, I am inexplicably grateful.
I learned a lot of life lessons from our kitchen fire — which thankfully did relatively no damage to our home and was determined to have started because a cardboard box was set on a burner had somehow turned on, or maybe was left on, we’re not sure.
LESSONS LEARNED FROM THE KITCHEN FIRE OF 2018
1. Trust your intuition. I was an RA in college and had to do fire safety training. So as soon as I saw that flame, I knew exactly what to do. Even though that training had been a decade prior and I’ve literally never had to use what I learned, it’s like my brain and my body were communicating without my knowledge. I just trusted myself to do what I needed to do.
This year we’ve all been handed a deck of decisions that have been really challenging to make. From sending kids to school to wearing masks in public, and so, so many things in between, I, for one, am weary from decision making and second guessing myself. But it’s important to trust your intuition. We may not all make the same decision for our families, but trust your gut and be confident that what you're doing is best for those who are in your care.
2. Let yourself break down. The moment I knew I didn’t have to be strong anymore, I literally began crying so hard that Jason had to (lovingly) tell me to get it together because he couldn’t understand what I was saying through my tears. Although it was important for him to know what happened, I also knew that the fire was out and we were all safe and it was going to be okay. So while telling Jason was my priority at that moment, I also knew that it was okay to let my emotions flow freely as well.
I think the same can be said about days when the anxiety feels suffocating or the world around us makes us want to just run and hide from it all. Once you know you’re safe, and your loved ones are safe, you can give yourself permission to break down. You are allowed to not be strong sometimes.
That day, I had to pull it together within a matter of minutes so I could communicate with the fire department, but those few minutes of emotional release got me to the point of being able to do the next important step. Sometimes, we can’t wait to break down until the end. Our days, this year, or the current circumstance doesn’t have to be punctuated by emotions — emotions can happen in the middle, and that’s okay too.
3. Call for help. From the fire department (shoutout to Station 10/22 in Avondale!), to Jason, to my sister — I HAD to ask for help! There was literally a moment when I thought about calling 911 back (can you do that?) and telling them not to send the fire truck because I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone or pull them away from something that could have been more important. But, I’m so thankful that I didn’t and that I let them come and help. Not only were they able to ensure there wasn’t a bigger issue, they found the source of the problem and brought in these giant fans to blow the smoke out of our house so we’d be able to go back inside. I needed my sister to help take care of Brighten, who was terrified and wet from the rain. Later that night a friend came over with her broom and mop to help me clean up the white dust leftover from the fire extinguisher. Having a friend come clean my house is the most vulnerable part of it all.
And of course I needed Jason, I always need Jason.
Our kitchen once the fire department left.
When I think about this year, it hurts my heart to think about how many people have been in isolation because of this global pandemic, or even just because of differing views on the world around us from close family or friends. We need each other — we were made to be in community! We need to allow ourselves to call for help when, figuratively, the kitchen catches fire.
As we enter into the last quarter of 2020 (all the praise hands), my hope and prayer is that we’ll begin to see the countertops under the white dust, if you will. I know that this year has been so challenging for so many. But whatever your year has been like, however unyielding your kitchen fire has burned, I hope and pray that you’ll see beyond this moment, and rest in gratitude for all that was left untouched by the flame.
