Yesterday I ran my finger over Tom's car now covered with ash from the conflagration so close by. As I looked at my finger I realized that the ash on it is all that is left of people's hopes, dreams and lifetimes of work, just as Tom's car is a physical representation of all that is left of his life. Except. Except that the memories can never be burned away, they always remain. If I had one small piece of advice for those who are facing the devastation of losing their homes and for some, their family members as well, is to cherish the memories. Nothing can erase those. The physical things that are the gateway to the recollections are gone, and that is painful, something to be mourned. The objects, be they pictures, knick knacks, a piece of jewelry, a handwritten note or a car, hold the energy of the people who used them. I have kept Tom's car because every time I sit in it, as I press back against the seat, I feel the shape of his body there. It seems as if I am receiving a big Tom hug. As I accelerate up the hill, it feels as if I am flying with him. That car which holds such precious remembrances is now covered with the ashes of other peoples lives. It is sad, yet fitting.
The fires in Sonoma and Napa, and elsewhere, have had a traumatic impact in all of those in Northern California. It seems everyone knows someone who was evacuated or lost their home or place of business. And if they didn't, the toxic smoke in the air which has covered the landscape has been a constant reminder. The news stations covered the fire 24/7 for the first 48 hours. It is all anyone talks about here. It has altered our collective psyches. I live in one of the most affluent counties in the country and I have seen a tremendous outpouring of support. I have also seen demonstrations of privilege--people who believe that they should not be inconvenienced by others' misfortune. The fact that those people cannot see past their own lives and needs is disheartening. I can only focus on those who have wanted to help. What I hope is that they realize that the recovery process is long and difficult, that the victims won't just "get over it." It is a marathon, not a sprint. It will take a village and several years to rebuild. I should know.
