California Wildfires: The Fear of Losing Memories of My Mother
I dropped the box that had my mom’s obituary in it.
After five days evacuated from my home, I had finally gotten around to unpacking my car and with the last box in my arms, I managed to trip on the sidewalk and pour the contents out onto the pavement. I heard the picture we displayed at her funeral scratch against the ground, the small prayer card slipping out of the corner I had so carefully tucked it into. My mom’s smile beamed up at me as I sunk next to the scattered mementos – pictures of my brothers and I that she’d displayed in her office, the program from the church service we’d held for her, the knob of a dresser she’d bought when she redecorated my room.
My partner, to his credit, tried very hard to help, but at that moment couldn’t understand why I started crying or why I insisted on picking it all up by myself. I didn’t feel like I could breathe again until I set the dusty box down inside and then everything hit me – five days of pent up fear and guilt and frustration.
Growing up in California, I was no stranger to local fires and had evacuated before, but this was the first time it felt real.
When the first fire started in Palisades, I was still in denial. It felt so far away, but as the fires spread and started popping up closer and closer, we lost power and went under a shelter and place order for the winds and air quality. When I woke up Wednesday morning and saw that the fire closest to us had grown from 50 acres to 2,000 overnight, I knew we had to leave. With limited time though, it was so hard to decide what to take. I think I only packed 4-5 t-shirts and a pair of leggings because the rest of my car space went to the bins of my mom’s things that I thankfully still had packed away.
I tried to grab as much of what little I have left of her as I could but I knew I wouldn’t get it all.
Driving away from my apartment, knowing that I still had sentimental pieces of hers left there and that they might not be there when I got home, was one of the hardest parts of evacuating. When all I could do was watch the news and see where the fires were spreading, my CZC family was there for me to lean on.
While many people reached out to make sure I was safe, my Comfort Zone friends were the only ones who understood the unique aspect my grief was playing in my experience and I’m so grateful to have had them.
While other people would respond, “Oh I didn’t even think about that,” when I’d mention the items I’d left behind, I could confide my frustration and helplessness to my CZC friends without needing to explain why it was so painful and important, which was exactly what I needed after a very long few days. I was already so grateful to Comfort Zone for changing my life years ago when I first experienced my loss, but as always, I’ve found new ways to appreciate the amazing community I’m now a part of.
And, in true Comfort Zone fashion, I was determined to find a way to use my experience to help others so, after taking some time to process my own emotions, my partner and I helped organize monetary and physical donations to bring to wildfire relief organizations while we were evacuated in Orange County. I was so touched by all of my CZC friends from across the country that not only reached out but also gave what they could to help support my community.
I am continuously surprised by the way my grief evolves, but I hope that by sharing my story, I can shed some light on what it has been like here in LA and express my gratitude to those who helped me and my community persevere.
