Alison Hodgson

Expert on the etiquette of perilous times.

My Friend’s/Neighbor’s/Co-Worker’s House Burned Down: What Should I NOT Say?

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photo: Sandi Gunnett

This is the view from the garden bed that ran along the western side of my house. You’re looking into the storage area that was under the stairs and opened into my garage, which was where the fire was set.

“Was set” denotes purpose. Most home fires are accidental, but ours was caused by arson. Someone randomly (he was a stranger and had no personal animus towards us) set our house on fire.

When something goes drastically awry in another person’s life, we feel for them. How horrible, we think. And we wonder: what happened? This is natural curiosity as well as the subtle desire to pull  back from the possibility that this could happen to us. We look for the cause, in order to assure ourselves we are safe.

My rule of thumb for conversation with anyone who has experienced a trauma is to ask myself, “Would I say this to someone who has been repeatedly thwacked in the head with a shovel?” I find, more often than not, the answer is no.

  • “Did they ever find out what caused it?” This is the natural question after a fire. Don’t ask it, especially if children, who ran from the burning home, are present. This seems obvious but you would be surprised.
  • “You weren’t home.” This assumption was a favorite of strangers and quickly followed by:
  • “But everyone’s OK, right?” I’m going to need you to define “OK”?
  • “It’s just stuff.” Absolutely, and no actually, it’s a whole lot more.
  • “At least you get a brand new house!” 
I know it’s apparent how unhelpful these are, but watch yourself: given the chance to comfort someone after a fire you will probably find platitudes bubbling up that would give Pollyanna a run for her money. In crisis situations some of us tend to blather and most of us have the impulse to try to make things OK. To be willing to stand in that discomfort, without platitudes and rosy mathematical equations (fire + new house and stuff = worth it!) is a rare gift.

Chocolate, Sweets and Cycles

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Today Eden stepped into the van and noticed an empty bag of a chocolate chips. “Who left this?” She asked as much as accused.

“Who do you think?” I said.

“Christopher.”

“He’s got quite a sweet tooth.” I said.

“I think he has that thing you told me about that girls and women, who are 11 to 50, get every month, where they want chocolate.”

“No, not that. He just craves sweets.” I said, trying not to laugh.

“I noticed that you said ‘Girls’ or ‘Women’ and not ‘People.’ Why is that?”

“It’s only women or girls who have what we were talking about.”

“Oh, well I think Rennie and Willa (cousins, 8 and 4 respectively) are going to crave candy.”

There was quiet for a moment as she thought.

“I’m more of a chocolate person, myself.”

Me too, Baby, me too.

My Friend’s House Burned Down: What Should I Say?

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“I’m so sorry.”

It doesn’t seem like much does it?

OK, if you are really hurting for your friend:

“I’m so sorry.”

If it’s an acquaintance and you don’t intend to do anything, that’s it. (And it’s OK to leave it at that. We”ll be getting to “Assignments.”)

A fire is scary and interesting—believe me, I know—but now is not the time to ask questions or share that story about your brother’s, girlfriend’s, uncle’s house fire, especially in front of your friend’s children. If your friend’s fire has brought up your own fears about fire, or experiences with trauma and loss, I’m so sorry and that would be a good thing to keep under your hat or wait to share with another friend. Personally I am a long talking over-sharer, so no judgment, but let’s aim higher.

If you really want to do something say:

“I’d like to bring you something. Is there someone organizing things?”

If you plan to give your friend money, just hand it to her. Write a check or go to your bank and take out some cash.

The day of our fire, when my husband and I came back to talk to the investigator, we were constantly interrupted by people stopping to express concern. It was great or terrible, depending on the person.

One lady, who lives about a mile away and was in a Bible study with my sister years before, hopped out of her car and handed me a bank envelope full of money. She briefly told me who she was, said she was so sorry, handed me the envelope and ran back to her car. She was there all of ten seconds. It was weird, we both felt awkward and it was the nicest thing in the world.

If you do this and your friend/acquaintance says, “We’re fine. We have good insurance.” You say:

“Oh I’m so glad. I really want you to have this.”

If your friend/acquaintance has it together enough to just say, “Thank you” you say:

“You’re welcome.”

It really isn’t so much what we say—in the early days, especially—it’s what we decide to keep to ourselves, and what we do that makes the difference.

I’ll tell you what not to say tomorrow.

How to Climb the Tallest Tree and Walk the Longest Road

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This maple is the meeting place I established, years ago, in case of a fire.  Thankfully, the morning our house was set on fire, we fled our home together and yet, without thinking, ran to the designated maple.

I’d like to highlight this: take a second, make a plan and then picture yourself enacting it. I know that doesn’t seem like enough, but it’s amazing what kicks in in an emergency.

We’re in the final days of school.  Last weekend both of the big kids had a lot of homework, mostly studying for finals this week. Christopher is doing much better with personal organization and self-motivation, but still benefits from re-direction. After church yesterday I couldn’t find him and asked Paul if he knew where he was.

“I thought I heard him out front.” Paul said.

I had scanned the front yard and there was no sign, but then I heard Christopher’s distinctive voice from a strange distance. I walked outside and there he was.

Between the fire and the rebuild we lost four mature maples, one of which was the kids’ second climbing tree that Eden never got to climb. To climb this tree, even the big kids need a ladder to get to the lowest branches. Yesterday Christopher nailed a few boards and scrabbled up into the highest branches. From this aerie he shouted at birds and passing cars. He was delighted when I found him and took his picture.

“The boards I nailed are not very secure.”  He said. I walked around the tree and saw them. They were too small and his big feet had pushed them up and down—not secure at all—and yet he got up as high as the tree would hold him.

Here Christopher is outside of church with his portable loom. One of his electives this semester was a ceramics class and they’re finishing out the year with a weaving project.  All week long he has been dragging this loom around everywhere in order to meet the deadline when they are cutting and binding their hangings in class today.

We had him take ceramics because we were looking for an elective that was hands on and didn’t have a lot of homework. His support teacher was nervous because this art teacher runs a very tight ship and has been known to kick kids out of her classes with the slightest provocation. I pushed a little and the support teacher met with the art teacher who, when she heard about Christopher, said “This class will be perfect for him.” And it has.

His other elective this semester was theater which was selected for the same reasons as ceramics, but has not gone as ideally. The entire class culminates in a series of one act plays the students produce. I assumed Christopher would do something technical and behind the scenes and was surprised to learn he was cast in one of the plays. As I ran lines with him I was even more surprised he had the largest part.

“How did this happen?” I asked.  I couldn’t believe the teacher assigned him the most lines.

“I chose it. But it is a decision I now regret.” He said.

He plays “Death” opposite “Life”, “Youth” and “The Girl”. It’s a terrible play and “Death” is the biggest and best part, which should tell you something. Youth and The Girl are would-be suicides. Death and Life throw the die for both their lives and Life wins. You will wish she didn’t; they’re both so horrible.

“I think my classmates are going to be surprised at how well I know my part.” He has been the weakest link up until now and his fellow thespians have been giving him some push back.  Yesterday we focused on pacing and interpretation, which we will continue  tonight and tomorrow.

When you first understand that your child has special needs, it can feel like your path has been diverted. Of course parents of a typical child will tell you that there are turns in every road.  And yet, with a child with special needs, the journey can be so arduous with no end in sight. The relationship continually changes (hopefully!) and evolves (more hope!) but is it ever really over—for any parent—until it’s over?

Four more days of tenth grade.

Further up and further in.

Bouquet of the Day

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Almost every mom has been handed a squashed clump of weeds that only a mother could love, let alone take the time to put in a vase and call a bouquet.

Eden has been gardening for several years and picking flowers since her (then) chunky legs could toddle out to the nearest blooms. From a very early age she was able to make a genuinely beautiful arrangement. She has an innate gift, that particular eye which can make all things lovely and pleasing.  I have always given her free rein, since the very reason I garden is to assuage the flower loving girl I was once upon a time.

True story: when I was six our family drove down to Florida in a motor home. On the way to Disney World we stopped to visit one of my mother’s friends from college, Lou. Lou’s husband Chuck is an extraordinary gardener and was in charge of the landscaping for a college. He took us on a twilight tour of the grounds. As we walked, he gathered an enormous bouquet which he gave to me.

I have no memory of our later trip to Disney World but I will never forget the moment I understood that astonishingly beautiful bouquet was mine. “For me?”

Eden has been gathering lovely little bouquets for years and I want to start cataloging them here. The above is from several weeks ago: the last of the redbud blossoms, a late lilac and a bare twig.