For those of you that know my family well, I get my sense of humor and my creativity from my dad, and I get my grit from my mom.
She had a rough childhood and instead of letting it break her, she put her faith in God, and came out stronger from it.
That’s why it hurt so much to hear her cry the night of the fire.
We knew that we couldn’t put out the fire ourselves, that it was getting bad, and the firefighters hadn’t arrived yet.
It was a such a strange thing to just sit there and watch, helplessly as the fire consumed the home my parents had lived in, and made their own for 32 years.
That’s when I heard my mother weep, and it about broke my heart. Watching my dad embrace and console my mom until the firefighters arrived is a memory that won’t easily be forgotten.
I know it’s just a house, and what was lost was just things, but it was sad and scary and horrible all the same.
I really hope I never have to hear my mom cry like that ever again.