Snapshots

1. Walking up to my house, holding Peaches in my arms, as Gus climbs out of the van behind me, the realization dawning on me that that beeping sound is getting louder and is coming from inside my house.  Understanding and dread fill my chest.  I put Peaches on the grass and hope she stays put.  There's no flame, but smoke fills the house from floor to ceiling and I carry the blackened pot outside.

2. Sitting on my armchair, almost midnight, nursing babe in my arms and tears.  It's over 24 hours later.  I'm exhausted, overwhelmed and feeling helpless. I feel like the smoke made my throat worse.  I worry that the smell will never go away.  I'm embarrassed to have my father-in-law visit.  I worry about how the lingering smell will effect my kids.  I work hard to keep any shred of guilt at bay.  I am scared that Chris seems to have no idea how I feel and that scares me more than anything else that has happened. 

3. A few days later, he writes an email asking some friends for some help cleaning up the place saying, "We left a pot on the stove... "

We did no such thing.  I did it.  But I love him for writing that.

4. Stuffed animals strewn across our backyard.  A wedding gown, two bridesmaids dresses and a suit hang from the deck cover.  A half-empty bottle of febreeze.  Mounds of laundry on the basement floor - the smoke-free zone.  Another mound still left in the laundry room.  The ironing board stands waiting.

5. I stand at my open doorway with a baby gate in place and relish the wind blowing through my house.  I thank God for the unseasonably cool weather that permits us to have open doors and windows with out worrying about heating our house, making it uncomfortable to sleep in.  We learn that opening our doors will cool the place much more quickly that we would have that possible and make a mental note to use this at the temperature will creep higher again in the weeks to come.

6. Flour, potatoes, coffee tins, canned tomatoes and apple juice cartons sitting in piles on our kitchen floor.  Any counter space covered with dishes.  Friends come armed with extra rags and buckets and diligently take on our floors and cupboards, shifting over the jars of vinegar, the bowls of baking soda.  Watermelon, cantaloupe and pineapple my mother provided waits for us when we need a break from odour and wrinkled hands and sore necks.

7. Eight days later is Canada's 142nd birthday.  Some friends are in the laundry-free backyard, watching toddlers pull each other around in wagons and the crawlers eat dirt and get wet in the kiddie pool.  Pictures are taken.  We eat burgers and salads made from backyard produce.  Someone pulls out an ice cream cake.  When they come inside, no one notices the smell.  Only the floors are left to clean.