It was a picture perfect summer day, the kind you wait for all winter. If youʼre not  from the Midwest, you canʼt relate to the sheer magic of summertime. I can still  smell the breeze from that July morning. What started out as a day with my family  ensued in a cascade of events I could never have prepared for. That Friday  afternoon, driving up the winding road to my house I was beginning to feel the  absolute delight and bliss of arriving home. This feeling never got old in the twelve  years we lived there. Immersed in nature, the sun set at the back of the house  overlooking the river. I took photos of the sunset constantly, never quite  adequately capturing the conversation unfolding.  

After running a few errands that afternoon, I went inside to put away the groceries.  My husband and son went outside for a little extra play. Our yard was busy with  life, but also exquisitely serene. My son, the peaceful warrior, is always a little  worried about things like ducks swimming in cold water or an elderly man crossing  the street alone. Born under the cancer zodiac sign and always more sensitive to  his surroundings, he often asked “whatʼs that sound”. That afternoon, the sound  my son heard would change the course of our life. I couldnʼt make out what my  husband was saying but he was definitely calling my name in a very urgent tone,  “Get out… fire… get out now”. I ran out of the house not because I knew what was  happening but it honestly felt like a force was guiding me. “Call 911 immediately,  we have a fire… NOW”. Within minutes, four fire departments had arrived on the  scene. We stood there for what seemed like an eternity, watching the two  elements battling it out; fire and water.  

One of the fire captains noticed I had several scrolls in the house and took the  time to collect them, placing them in the garage before they were too damaged. I  had been collecting these scrolls since college, they belonged to a renowned  master of Arabic calligraphy. I had held it together up to that point, but the  vulnerability was too much for my type-A alter ego. “You can go in and collect  some personal items you may need in the next few days or anything valuable” he  said. It made sense of course, but where does one start; my laptop? Passports?  Photo albums? My sonʼs Sponge Bob pillow? The only thing of value were the two  people standing next to me outside of our house. Still, there was the life we had  built and the memories we shared everyday over the last 12 years. We always kept  a simple house, clean and decluttered. Everything we had served a purpose. Just  a few days prior, we had spent the weekend gathering items for donation.  

Itʼs an interesting experience to lose everything and at the same time realize you  have everything. The truth is, things couldʼve ended much worse that afternoon 

and for that I am eternally grateful. I soon realized that rebuilding our house was  actually about rebuilding our life. Our young family was not living the life we  intended, we were too busy, stressed and disconnected. I donʼt want to be  dramatic and say itʼs as if our house sacrificed itself so that we stop taking our  time together for granted, but I will. Weʼre finding purpose and meaning in our  experience together. We spend more time with grandma and grandpa, and we  even invested in a vintage monopoly board! Initially it always startled me when I  came across the smell of smoke, but now I am able to enjoy things like a bonfire.  Thank you universe for another chance. To the next twelve years… weʼre taking  you one day at a time.