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.

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.

Breakfast in Bed

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You might notice that this dear girl’s eyes look a touch squinty. Poison ivy, or oak or any number of things was the culprit. Fortunately she’s doing well.

The other day I wasn’t feeling so hot. It was one of the last days of spring break. The kids were all sleeping in and I got up early with Paul but wanted to go back to bed. My reflexive shame kicked in and the monkeys starting beating drums, “You’re so lazy. You’re such a loser. You will NEVER finish your proposal.” (It almost always comes back to the stinking proposal, but that’s another story.)

I went downstairs to get a cup of coffee and realized I was hungry. In a rare moment of self compassion  I decided to make myself breakfast in bed.

Later, when Eden got up, she came to my room and saw the tray on my bed and asked what I was doing and I told her.

“You just said my dream out loud.”

“What?”

“It’s my dream to have breakfast in bed.”

“I’ve made you breakfast in bed.”

“But I had to ask for it. My dream is to just wake up and – there it is. You know?”

I did. As much as I preach the need to “Make a request” it is so lovely when someone knows you so well and surprises you with exactly what you want. I tucked away the reminder to do this for Eden some day soon.

Paul is sick today. He has finally learned to just take a day and get a lot of rest in order to avoid dragging for a couple of weeks.  He called into work and then put himself back to bed. Eden and I left him alone until late in the morning I asked her to sneak into the bedroom and get something off my nightstand.

She brought it right back with the report that Paul was stirring. “We could make him breakfast in bed!”

I asked if he was really awake. She assured me he was. I should have run up myself to double check, but Eden already had a tray and was picking out Paul’s favorite bowl. I didn’t even know he had one.

While Eden poured the milk and cereal, I doctored up a mug of coffee, grabbed a napkin, a spoon and a pretty dish towel. Eden stripped a small branch from the redbud in a vase on our table and I filled a little  glass bowl with water. These niceties, I don’t want to say they’re wasted on Paul, but they’re really for Eden and me, I know.

Eden led the way, I carried the tray and the dogs followed along.

Unfortunately Paul was snuggled under the blankets, fast asleep. Eden crept to his side and whispered, “Do you want breakfast, Daddy?”
“No thank you.” He whispered back, ever polite.
I carried the tray to his side. “Honey, Eden made you breakfast in bed.” He opened his eyes, took in the tray and then we exchanged a glance. 

We both knew he just needed to sleep and yet… Paul rolled over and pushed up onto his elbow. I gently set the tray on the bed. He took a few sips of coffee and ate a couple bites of cereal then thanked Eden. We left him to go back to sleep with the big black dog sprawled beside him.

Years ago, not too long after my dad died, I said to a friend who was a social worker with Hospice, “Don’t you feel like you know so much more about how to support someone who has lost a loved one?” I had learned so much as my dad was sick and dying about the logistics of suffering and assumed she, who had walked with dozens of families through the valley of the shadow, would be even more equipped.

An expression I can only describe as stricken, came across her face. “You know, I actually feel less prepared than before. I have seen time after time, something that would be perfect to say to or do for “that” family is the last thing that would be supportive for “this” one. I’m actually stressed that, no matter what, I’m going to say or do the wrong thing.”

When someone we care about is in crisis it can be hard to know what to do. Some of us get so tangled up in our worry about doing the wrong thing, we fail to reach out at all.

Others of us know exactly what that person needs and, with a heart full of love, barge in with an unwanted, albeit lovely, tray.

It is such a relief to remember that there is grace for all of us, still.

My Friend’s House Burned Down! What Should I Do?

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photo: Sandi Gunnett

I just heard that friends, a family of ten,  had a house fire yesterday and lost all their possessions. I don’t know the details but I do know they were home and thankfully everyone made it out safely.

A year and a half ago our family went through the same thing and I learned so much through the extraordinary support of our amazing community.

I offered to make a list of some things that were very helpful to us after our house fire to give some guidance to people who want to help but don’t know what to do. If your heart is hurting for this family I have some suggestions for how to express your care and concern:



1. Send money. This is quite simply the most helpful thing you can do. No amount is too small. Don’t worry about a card or writing something eloquent. Fill out a check and send it.

2. Send a gift certificate to stores like Meijer, Target or Walmart. The family will be able to buy groceries, clothes and many home items. Again, don’t worry about the amount. Every little bit helps.

3. Give clothes or home items. Be really thoughtful here. In this family everyone is under 40, if you are 85 and thinking about  donating your sweet cruise wear from 1987, just don’t. They’ve already been through enough!

4. Buy groceries or make food.  Once the family is settled in a new house buy them groceries or bring them meals. Make a big casserole in a 9×13 and leave the pan as a gift or use disposable containers.

5. Write a card/email/facebook post. Keep it brief. “I’m so sorry. I’m thinking about/praying for you”  doesn’t seem like much but it really is more than enough.

6. Spread the word. Tell business owners and anyone you know. You will be amazed how many donations are given.

7. Pray. I know it wasn’t very spiritual of me to put this last, but if you are a person who prays, you started as soon as you heard the news. Keep it up.

We were astonished and humbled by the extraordinary generosity of our community. It was a beautiful and bright light shining in the darkness.

New Growth

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It’s a peculiar experience walking through the ruins of your home.
This is the floor of my study about two months after the fire. It was one of the rooms on the first floor hardest hit. The roof burned away and the ceiling was on the floor. The knotty pine paneling had been charred or eaten away by flames, but so many parts of the room were intact, almost burned beyond recognition, but there still.
The weeks before the fire I was working on a book proposal. In the ruins you could see books I was referencing as well as pieces of a friend’s proposal I was using as a model. It was so strange to stand in that room, that no longer had a roof and walls, but to see paper that survived.

I had the study one week.  We had shuffled around the bedrooms to create room for it.  The girls moved in together and Paul and I traded with them, moving into a smaller room that had been Lydia’s and changed Eden’s into the study.  All the bedrooms we redid, repainting the walls and replacing the floors.  Everything was fresh and new.  The week before the fire Paul and my brother-in-law, David moved in my old oak desk, that was a little too big, but I was using until I found something I liked better.  Days before the fire they moved in the sofa that I knew would be a place for Paul and some of the kids to lounge.

The day before the fire I was planning the bookshelves for the hundreds of books that were stacked in the hall and dining room, waiting to move in.

There is a small study, also on the northwest corner of the new house.  Since we moved it has been the dumping ground of all our records, supplies for Eden’s home school and everything related to the build.  A few months ago I made some semblance of order but during the holidays it became the gift staging area and a new mess.

One of my excuses is that I have been homeschooling Eden and need to find a desk or table big enough for both of us to sit beside each other.  I haven’t found one that pleased me, so we’ve been doing school at the island or the couch, which is fine, but we’re constantly schlepping her books and notebooks around.

Today was the breaking point.  It wasn’t dramatic, I just hit a wall.  I’m working on a new project which means a new proposal and I need to spread out some papers and make room for a stack of books.  I need a desk.  I have a small, antique library desk that my brother-in-law lent me, but it’s not comfortable  and doesn’t afford a lot of space.

Never mind that.

I cleared it off and Christopher helped me move it in front of a window.  There are still baskets full of records that need to be sorted and piles of papers too, but this is it.   I’m claiming this space.  I’m writing in and through the mess.