Running from the Santa Rosa fire

Overwhelming heartache — but it could have been worse

Our house was a very, very, very fine house.

I was feeling very sad about the passing of Tom Petty. Still am. I wrote a remembrance last week. I concluded it with this:

What a luxury it is to be able to be sad about the passing of Tom Petty. Far better I mourn this than something more personally tragic. Those days are coming, but not right now. Fucking life.

I must have been tempting fate. Fate took the bait. We lost our home and almost everything we own in the Santa Rosa / Tubbs / Sonoma County / Southern LNU Complex fire. We got out just in time in the early morning hours of Oct. 9, 2017.

We feel like we’ve been running ever since.

Life often leaves me feeling like I’m not good at much of anything. One thing I know I’m good at, though, is suppressing my feelings. I’m elite level. Certified. Wildfire sweep through your neighborhood? Takes your home and every possession? Terrifies your family and ruins your (admittedly false) sense of security? It’s go time. It’s my time. I will shine through this.

Tamping down ones feelings is what I was made for. What I was born to do. I can get through this.

Got no clothes, books, motorcycles, guitars, computers (I grabbed one on the way out, fortunately), food, vinyl record collection, CDs, games, kids toys, family pictures, heirlooms, jewelry … on it goes. Got no need for emotions either, then. I can stuff those way down.

I can, that is, until I saw this child’s drawing:

Artist unknown — maybe you know?

I saw that and bawled like a baby. “Do not fear! I shall save you!” Jesusfuckingchrist. OK, fire. You win. You’ve now taken everything.

I don’t want to give up anything else. We’ve given up enough, haven’t we?

We are lucky. We know it. More than 35 people are confirmed dead from these fires. Upward of 3000 homes were destroyed. Some escaped with absolutely nothing. Some had almost nothing to begin with and have no or few local resources to help them sort out their needs.

We are lucky. My wife, daughter and dog got out unscathed, if poorly clothed. We drove away our two cars. I grabbed my laptop and my wife’s iPad. We have our phones.

More than that, we have the unbelievable support of our extended family and friends who have stepped up incredibly in rapid order. We have the gracious support of a local friend who is letting us stay with them in town. It’s traumatic, but we are doing OK.

And we’re grateful. And confused. And sad. And angry. And sad. And bewildered. And trying to make it OK for our daughter, age seven, who is doing remarkably well — far better than we anticipated.

We want to help others, yet we’re currently accepting help from others. A close relative started a gofundme campaign on our behalf. You can view it here, which I recommend you do, if you want to see how good people can be in the real world, when something bad happens to people you care about — or even just to people you heard about. We’ve received donations from those close to us, some that remember us from years past and those that have never even met us. We’re overwhelmed, grateful and stunned.

I also feel very guilty. I do not ask nor recommend that you contribute to our fund. We’re already blown away by those who did. I don’t know what the future holds, but my wife and I both still have jobs and a short-term place to stay. We’ve got a real shot to get back on our feet soon. I think. For now.

We have rental insurance (we were renting our house in the Fountaingrove neighborhood). I don’t know how this process works, nor what to expect, nor when. We expect a battle, but hopefully we’ll be compensated at least somewhat for our material losses. I’m optimistic in that sense, so I’m very uneasy with the gracious donations so many have offered.

Thank you to the many who have contributed. Thank you thank you thank you.

Overhead satellite image, post-fire, of our cul-de-sac in Fountaingrove, Santa Rosa, California. The white ashy blob in the lower right is where our home used to be. Every other blob is a destroyed home. There are more than 3,000 confirmed in Santa Rosa alone.

Fate is weird. Just out of frame to the upper left of this image is a home left standing. It belongs to the family of a friend of our daughter’s. It is one of only four homes in the neighborhood that inexplicably survived. The fire destroyed everything around it.

But for that family, it gets even weirder. The father of our fortunate neighbors has a home on Riebli Road nearby. That neighborhood was devastated as well, with more than 70 confirmed burned structures and only three surviving homes. His was one of those three. The flames woke him up because they were on his lawn. And his house did not burn.

Why does one family get lucky twice while others don’t?

I’ve met many people lately who are refugees from the wildfire. All want to tell their stories. We’re all trying to move on. Most everyone looks at least a little bit stunned, still, days later. In Santa Rosa and the larger surrounding counties, the competition for resources now is incredible. And the ongoing battles are, to my mind, unfathomable. It will take years to rebuild these communities. Assuming another disaster doesn’t strike, either natural or Trump/Un-made.

I was always most worried about the threat of an earthquake. A real possibility, still. For that reason, I almost did not buy renters insurance because it didn’t cover earthquakes. I can’t tell you how glad I am that I did go through with the decision to buy renters insurance. At least I think I am. We’ll see how this battle goes.

Far from the only such sign. A sign of the times and sad reality.

As great as people have been, it’s not been entirely roses and chocolates. It turns out people still suck, too. Several arrests for looting have been publicized. I overhead some gleeful cackling in Safeway on Monday as I shopped for some food. Full quote: “Yup. Fountaingrove is gone. Totally gone! I guess those million-dollar homes don’t have such a great view now, do they?”

Har dee har har, sweetheart. We didn’t have a view, and we were renting. Because we couldn’t afford to buy in that neighborhood. But we also didn’t ever laugh at the devastating misfortune of others. We just felt lucky to be there and tried to work as hard as we could and live good lives.

And the internet is still the internet. To wit:

deplorable shelly is well-named. Don must be so proud.

Apparently, we’re all liberals in Santa Rosa. And we caused the wildfire in ways that conservatives wouldn’t have, had they been so rightfully in charge.

Count me among the haters. Couldn’t resist.

Yes, your garden-variety fuckheads on Twitter want to use the #SantaRosaFire hashtag to irrelevantly promote their own agendas. I don’t mind saying I’m joining in on the active hate on this front. Fuck this piece of shit. If he had a point, I don’t care about it now. And forever.

There is still a lot of smoke in the air. Some times it’s thicker than others. It’s difficult to sleep at night when you can smell the smoke and recall how slow and stupid you were the last time you smelled smoke in the night. Had I been more aware and more proactive, I could have done so much more to protect my family and others. This will be my eternal shame.

But if you get a chance to visit this community when it rebuilds, you’ll see a resilient, caring bunch. Many people are stepping up to help their fellow citizens, neighbors, friends and strangers.

I gave to a local firefighters’ fund yesterday, but if you saw the total of our gofundme page, you can see how much I have to pay forward. And I will.