Things get real clear when you have no choice, but to surrender to the fact that a life experience has drastically redirected you. That’s one good thing about shifting into survival mode. Such a state of being quickly mutes unnecessary chatter and concerns, simplifies life and helps define exactly what matters. Frivolous thoughts that often took up space in my head prior to my house fire disappeared for weeks and months following that day. It was impossible to think about anything other than what was in my direct line of vision, or make decisions on anything except what had to do with my immediate surroundings and children’s well-being. My mind focused on living in the present without concern for what was normally done or how my actions would impact others. It was a freakishly freeing and a refreshingly unapologetic way to navigate life, twisting me into truly living in the moment.
In the immediate hours following being displaced from our home, my maternal instincts kicked into high gear and the only objectives were to find warm, safe shelter, buy my children their basic necessities such as underwear, pajamas and clothing, and gather food for a few days. The focus was to help nourish their bodies, warm their souls and think about settling ourselves into a new normal. Many of my sleepless nights were filled with questions of how we would recreate a place that made our family feel secure and loved once again. It was almost two decades earlier when we first created this special home for our family in the Hamptons. Over the years it became central for family celebrations, friend sleepovers, held all our keepsakes, photographs and videos from our children’s childhoods, momentos from our travels, and countless memories from our life together. It wouldn’t be the materialistic things that we would miss most, but the space where we instinctively came together and gathered in all hours and seasons. Two months later, I’ve learned that home is not an address. It’s actually a central place in life where one goes to converge with others they love and who loves them back, hash out life’s uncertainties, navigate relationships and wherever one feels safe enough to truly be themselves.
Experiencing catastrophic change as a family raised a new level of consciousness amongst us and forged incredible bonds. Our family consists of seven super independent, smart, self-motivated loving individuals. I was proud to be a mother to such amazing human beings. I even wrote a book teaching parents how to raise independent children. The collective disconnect that exists in society nowadays, and may have seeped into our lives every now and again, evaporated right before my eyes. I was witness to my five children getting real and raw. They formed even deeper relationships and eliminated the distractions and apathy that often thwart true connection. About three days after the fire, I was in bed with my husband and a sudden gush of deep sadness mixed with overwhelming gratitude bubbled up. I wept out loud as I communicated how grateful I was for our children sharing in this personal tragedy. I remember saying, “They actually really love each other!” Losing their home prompted their strong independent selves to soften and unite, generating authentic moments of healing and transformation.
For weeks following the fire, I would hear my children reflecting on the day it happened, discussing how someone changed something in their lives after hearing our story or said something stupid. Eventually their stories were colored with big life-lessons and new perspectives that spurred resilience and optimism. During most days they would congregate in the kitchen in search of comforting foods, as most teenagers do, and engage in profound conversations. Way into the evenings they climbed into our bed asking questions they had been pondering, discuss how the fire ravaged our home, laugh about how their sister’s travel visa was recovered by a firefighter, or how their youngest sibling randomly found money. This forced rerooting spawned beautiful insight and I was grateful to have them all home to experience it as a family.
We spent the most recent school break watching our house get torn down. On the first day of demolition, I felt compelled to hold onto my house while I recited a prayer of gratitude for a home that unwaveringly helped keep us safe, comfortable and happy for over 17 years. It was loved by many and adoringly labeled the “House of Fun” by my nephews. At first we felt excited to sift through the debris in hopes of recovering some personal things, approaching it like a treasure hunt. Mightily, yet with such grace, the jaws of the excavator opened up, like a child’s mouth trying to fit in a whole ice cream cone, ripped apart the charred structure, and piece by piece tossed chunks of our house into a dumpster. After just a couple of days on site, our children were done bearing witness to the deconstruction of their home. From then on, our family group text kept everyone apprised of any further findings or developments. I went everyday and sifted through the rubble hoping I would come upon a memento or something that could be cleaned up and presented as a token of our special time spent in our home. The last day concluded with an epic takedown of a two-story stone fireplace that stood in the center of the house. The bulldozer gave it a gentle nudge causing it to tip over and collapse into a pile of bricks. Watching our home disappear from the landscape of our street was difficult, nonetheless a critical part of the process to bring closure to this chapter in our lives.
Throughout the week we were amazed at the treasures found and gifts that presented themselves. Looking at a home that was ravaged by a 10+ hour fire and submerged in water you would never imagine that two months later anything would be salvageable. Magically, we found a few of my grandmothers handmade crochet blankets, photos of my children (and even a few from when my husband and I dated), cash (although half burnt) I had in my office from Wing It Project a non-profit I founded, my kids’ special stuffed animals and some childhood keepsakes. Then, on the second to last day of demolition the universe presented me with an unexpected gift. As I stood in between ten-foot high piles of debris, in my basement that was no longer, with a sore back and a bout of tendonitis from bending over and raking all week long, I received a clear sign. It would be the gift that pivoted me towards a new level of awareness yet again.
I had a collection of mugs with various inspirational sayings on them in the home that burned down. There was only one that made it through in one piece, and there it was. The shiny blue porcelain caught my attention as it lie partially buried in the shallow edge of a pile of rubble. A mug with the words, “embrace the moment” was my sign. I bent down to be sure that was what it actually stated and immediately thought it couldn’t truly be a sign for me. Why would I need this message? Doesn’t the universe see that I’m knee deep in soot and ashes, physically and mentally exhausted? And what purpose would embracing this moment actually serve me?! Should I embrace my sore muscles, chapped hands or the entire experience of losing my home and everything in it five days before Christmas?! I picked up the mug and was convinced that this sign wasn’t meant for me. After all, I’m generally optimistic and try to live in gratitude everyday. I meditate. I embrace all good moments, and always look for the silver lining in the not so good ones. I’m known to acknowledge the enormous beauty in the world out loud and have even kept a gratitude journal at different points in my life. My thought at first was that the “embrace the moment” idea can’t possibly be for my consideration at this time in my life.
I sat squatted alone in the hole for another minute and a brisk wind blew through my damp smoked-filled hair. Chills ran up my spine and down to my hands that were holding the mug. I looked around and saw nothing else but ashes and dirt. That’s when I realized that the sign was indeed meant for me. Appreciating everything that led me to that point in the hole was critical. Acknowledging what existed in that very moment was what I needed for my own healing and evolution. Where I had landed was the perfect place for me to be. I was physically, emotionally and spiritually nuzzled between an expungement of any past unnecessary materialistic things and on the forefront of a future with a fresh start and limitless possibilities. This was a new starting point for self love and an awareness of what really matters.
Embracing moments of instability, incompletion, or of not knowing what’s coming next takes courage. It’s a soul stretching personal practice in faith. This was my gift. A lesson that I had heard hundreds of times throughout my life, but never connected to it as much as I did that day. And, just in case I had any remaining doubts about whether or not the “embrace the moment” message was for me, I received a second sign moments after I climbed out of the hole. On my way to placing the mug by the small pile of other found treasures I noticed a bright red circle on the ground. As I walked closer I saw that it was a dvd from, none other than, the movie Anastasia.