Hindsight is 20/20

I could still smell the smoke. It lingered in my hair and clothes as the CTA train came to a stop at my station. A June breeze swept through the opening doors making the smell more apparent, a reminder of the day’s events. I never imagined when I locked my apartment door and left for work that beautiful Wednesday morning that I would unlock it later that day feeling so appreciative.

That morning, I responded to my first home fire as an intern at the American Red Cross of Greater Chicago. When the Disaster Services response van pulled up to the scene, the neighborhood appeared charming and quiet. The van blocked my view of the affected home, so I stepped from behind it and saw the devastation. My heart stopped. The front door and window frames were strewn across the front lawn. In the back yard, a young family stood staring up at their home, as calm as could be.

As I approached the mother, Nancy Buckles, she stepped forward to explain the morning’s events. At around 9:30, Nancy and her little daughter, Bella, went to the neighbor’s house for coffee. The persistent sound of a car horn from the street brought Nancy outside to see thick, heavy smoke hanging in the air surrounding her rented home on the south side of Chicago. Once we arrived at the scene, her husband John had returned from work and the emergency crews had left the scene.

Walking through the front door with the family, I saw where the fire began: a light fixture hanging by a damaged wire. Bad wiring caused the fire to start in the front hall and spread through the walls, completely consuming the rooms on the top floor of the house. Water poured from broken pipes in the ceiling flooding the floors. It was hard to believe that a few hours earlier this was someone’s living room, a safe haven. Bella ran up to her mother and asked why everything was burnt up. It was heartbreaking to see Nancy search for the right words to tell her daughter what had happened to all of her things.

Bella turned to me and said, “My fish made it out safe,” with a huge smile on her face. The family, including Bella’s fish, made it out unscathed. I could tell that this knowledge alone would see them through the disaster.

I walked down the hall to the stairwell and looked up. As I climbed, I noticed blue sky and sun shining through the wreckage where the roof used to be. The room at the top of the stairs held small pieces of evidence that this was a little girl’s bedroom. A small, broken purple chair, a tiny bed with princess sheets covered in ash and debris, and a pink story book were items that miraculously escaped the flames. As the Disaster Action Team provided the family with shelter, clothing and food, a fellow intern and I stood on the street with John taking in the scene in silence. I couldn’t imagine what the man standing next to me was feeling. After a few moments he broke the silence, “You know how they say hindsight is 20/20?” he asked. “All of the pieces are starting to come together. Some of the outlets didn’t work.”

His comment got me thinking. Hindsight really is 20/20, and regret is one of the worst possible emotions. You don’t want to look back and know you could have done something differently. A home fire can happen anywhere, at any time, to anyone. This is why it is so important to be Red Cross Ready. Everyone should Be Prepared by getting a kit, making a plan and taking a class to be ready in case a disaster occurs.

As I walked into my apartment that afternoon, it hit me. My home is where I come after a long day at work, where I feel safe and comfortable. A home is so much more than just walls or shelter, and losing something that meaningful is unimaginable.

To learn more visit: http://www.chicagoredcross.org/

Written by: Katie Donabedian

Flashbacks Through a Camera Lens: Why It's Hard to Forget But Easy to Help

Shards of glass from the windows were embedded into the thick ivy that covered the full side of the house. The window frames were reduced to splinters on the ground. Construction workers looked on from the road while drilling into the earth and reworking the dirt in front of the house with bulldozers. While all of these details caught my eye, the worst part was the front door. It had been ripped off the front of the house and the sentiment mimicked the torn heart of the woman sitting on the porch.

The fire might have been small but the damage was evident. The inside of the house looked as though a tornado had consumed all of the belongings and then whipped them out in random directions. The smell of smoke and burning plastic seemed to hang in the air as I walked through what seemed like a reoccurring dream. Everything about the scene reminded me of my past, especially the woman standing by my side showing me the damage. I started to get flashbacks as I inspected the damage through the lens of my camera.

Click.

On December 23, 2007, I awoke to my three story farm house engulfed in flames. As the fire alarm went off, I could have sworn it was just my morning alarm buzzing to remind me that I had to catch the bus in thirty minutes. But it was 3 AM. Then the door swung open and smoke poured into my room along with my brother screaming that we had to get outside. Adrenaline pushed me out of bed, into my rubber ducky bathrobe, and down the stairs. Red and yellow consumed my eyes.

Flash.

As I continued to walk around and observe, family members and friends were moving things in and out of the house before the landlord came to board it up. Daunting reptile cages with tarantulas inside were being passed back and forth. Confused, I headed upstairs to the second floor to uncover the origin of these pets. When I reached the top of the stairs, I was met with more torn doors and holes in the ceiling from where the fire department attempted to unblock the ventilation.

Click.

I pushed my mom away from the phone as she was repeatedly stating the wrong address to the 9-1-1 operator. We were standing on the porch which was already halfway consumed in fire and could not leave for safer grounds since our house phone was not cordless. When we confirmed the address my mom and I ran towards the grass and away from our home of eight years. Where was my brother? Where was my dad? All I could do was watch in absolute horror at the blazing building that I used to call home. I heard screaming but couldn’t force myself to turn around. I didn’t realize how closely I was standing to the flames until my dad suddenly emerged from the basement. He was covered head to toe in black ash and looked like he was about to collapse. I thought he was going to die and I couldn’t even move.

Flash.

I saw snake skin out of the corner of the camera lens and got weak in the knees. I was told that one of the resident’s family members rescued abandoned or hurt reptiles and took care of them. This news deepened my sorrow as I knew that the residents clearly had good intentions and had a deep love for animals. While not all of the reptiles and spiders survived, a very lucky puppy made it through the disaster. Cajan, an adorable brown and black freckled canine with an undeniable will to live, was alive and well after the fire. Rescued from Hurricane Katrina, Cajan had already escaped a much larger catastrophe and showed off his cool demeanor by lying in his cage with a silly grin on his face.

Click.

Fire fighters, police, neighbors. Everyone was in my face and trying to comfort me. But I wasn’t there. I didn’t know where I was or even who I was. Someone had moved me off of the patio and away from the house as fiery siding curled off the exterior walls and fell like comets into my mom’s daylily garden. I was barefoot. My eyes were watering but I made sure everyone understood that it was because of the smoke and not because I was crying. And that was the truth. The last thing I remember happening that night was staring back at the ball of light in the middle of my valley as we drove away. And then it was over.

Flash.

When a disaster hits, we all want to help the victims. As human beings, it’s in our blood. As I looked at the victims of this Chicago fire, I knew I had to be there to comfort them. I could see the pain in their eyes and it resonated within me.

I can think of a million reasons why my house burning down was a positive experience but that is something that comes with time. All I could do was comfort the family and reassure them that everything would be okay in the end. Even though I played a small role on the road to recovery, I will never forget the family, the scene and the atmosphere of my first field reporting assignment.

My name is Lauren Snyder and I am a Red Cross communicator.