Last night as I finally finished
my post on Lil E's birthday party and was trying to wrap up an IM conversation that my tired brain was struggling to keep up with, I heard the wail of sirens creep into my thoughts.
I've spent most of my life hearing these city sounds and am so accustomed to them that they rarely grasp my full attention. Last night, though, the sirens and lights were followed by yelling and doors slamming, and I couldn't ignore what seemed to be happening very close to home.
I pulled back the curtain to find emergency vehicles lining my street and a swarm of first responders making their way down the block. A two-flat three doors down from me was on fire and my snoozy night was now frightening close to the epicenter of a trauma scene.
I never saw flames. But there was lots of smoke and the sounds of glass breaking and water flooding the building. It was cold and as the elderly people were being escorted and wheeled from the burning building, I wrapped myself in a blanket and watched anxiously from my porch. Who doesn't have a fear of fire? Who doesn't freeze up thinking about how everything you own and maybe the people you love could be swept up and way so quickly?
The 1 a.m. darkness was punctuated by red and yellow lights, the stillness of my block was drenched in tension as neighbors emerged in pajamas and coats to see what was going on and to rush over to help.
Our building and the other homes surrounding the one that is now gutted and soot-stained, is safe. My son and the other children living here slept soundly and safely while another family's life fell apart. Prayers ran continuously through my mind while I checked on Lil E in his bed, while I stood outside with shaking knees, while I tried to ease the adrenaline so I could finally go to bed just before 3 a.m.
I prayed for that family, who I do not know but have seen in what might have been one of their most awful moments. I prayed for the old man who did not survive the fire that seems to have started and engulfed his bedroom. I prayed for the firefighters and paramedics and pastors and police officers on the street below me, moving and working steadily through the chaos that a fire is. I prayed for us, in the home that we are blessed to have, with our health and togetherness and late-night calmness.
All the tiny irritations and issues I had during the day seemed even smaller. When I finally crawled deep into my covers, I said a last prayer of gratitude for that frightening feeling of vulnerability. I could do that because we were safe, I know, but the reminder was an important one. We are fragile, this is all precarious and momentary.
Last night, that brought me clarity and deep breaths. Deep and cleansing breaths that drowned out the sounds of radio calls and ambulances pulling away toward the hospital, of neighbors heading inside and closing doors, of ladders being lifted back on to trucks.
Today, everything could change. And one day, it will. For better or worse or somewhere in between, it will change. Last night, we were just outside of fire, but we were OK. We were completely OK.
An update: There is always a lot of controversy about how this city is run. It is the nature of Chicago politics and is emphasized by the hype of potentially hosting the 2016 Olympics. Whatever criticism you have, however, is met by what I saw last night and this morning as firefighters distributed smoke alarms to the houses on my block. Incidentally, reports from the scene say that there were no working smoke detectors found in the building that caught on fire.
I'm told the fire was a "one-roomer" and not very big. Still, it was right there. So close. So, so close.
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is a single mama in the city, super-savvy editor, writer, video host and shameless shoe whore.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009 