what to do when your house burns down

it burned down 1 year ago today

A year ago today my house burned down. It was the full moon. It was 2 years exactly to the day that we had moved to Los Angeles. The washer and dryer were outside, and late that night I ran downstairs to get the sheets out. I specifically remember that I had washed them in Borox and bleach to brighten the white. As I turned to walk up the stairs, sheets in my arms, I felt a sudden prickle of fear and literally ran inside, as if something were watching me. I didn’t think to say anything about it— LA is, after all, a sinister place. We watched Shark Week. I remember when we turned the TV off we sat on the sofa and looked at our home— the most beautiful place I have ever lived— amazed that we lived there, just feeling grateful for the space, for the home. I woke up maybe four hours after that, to the sound of something popping and saw an orange light through the window that was unmistakably fire.

I have thought about this a lot, because you do not believe that this piece of you exists until it happens to you. It’s that thing people talk about where mothers lift the car off of the child, or people perform these seemingly superhuman feats of the body, springing into action before they even know what is happening— the primal part of you. The downstairs porch was on fire and mostly what I remember was that I could not stop screaming. I woke the downstairs neighbors up. I didn’t know where to put Booboo. I untangled garden hoses, screaming, until the fire department came. Time slowed down. I remember thinking about my hands while I was untangling the hoses, I remember thinking that I felt like my mother— almost like I could feel my entire matrilineal line with me. Someone the next day said that because of the way the hills echo, they heard me scream half a mile away. For weeks and months afterward my diaphragm hurt whenever I thought about the fire.

The fire department came. They went to the wrong address, they sent the wrong truck, there was a problem getting the water. A neighbor who had helped with the hoses looked at us and said, “They’re gonna let your house burn down man. I’ve seen it before. They’re gonna let your house burn down. I’m really sorry.” He was right. So the house burned down and we watched it burn down along with 70 firefighters and everyone else on the street. A firefighter got electrocuted. EMS came. LAPD did an investigation, the fire department did an internal investigation about what went wrong. It was a mess. The actual cause of the fire remains a mystery. It started outside the building. Maybe a firework, maybe arson, maybe an electrical issue, maybe a cigarette. I do not like thinking about this. We were all completely unharmed. I noticed the day after the fire, that a small patch of skin on the middle finger of my right hand was gone. I had knocked on our downstairs neighbor’s door so hard it had broken skin. Everyone was unharmed but for a scratch.

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Immediately after the fire I looked online but found few resources regarding what you should do when your house burns down, so this is a list for either emergency preparedness, or if it has happened to you. Unfortunately there’s not a ton of wisdom here, but here are a few things I wish I had known:

1. If you have a phone available— (ask to borrow a neighbor’s phone if you don’t have access to your own) I recommend not only taking photos of your home as it burns down, but I also STRONGLY recommend taking photos and videos of the firefighters who are there to assist you, the taxpayer. I was extremely upset by the way several of the firefighters spoke to and treated me that night, no matter how calmly I spoke to them. When I talked to the fire chief about it in the days following, he told me that the “LA fire department doesn’t have the budget to train for empathy.” I am still not over this sentiment because I thought that’s why people became firefighters?? Further, when asked, some of these same people refused to give me their badge number or name… Nightmarish. Take photos and videos, you are entitled to know who is there to help you.

2. In California, the Red Cross comes shortly after the fire and asks a few questions. A household, not an individual, will get a single $600 pre-paid debit card. I don’t think you have to report this on your taxes, but honestly, I can’t remember. This is the only government-issued safety net available to you.

3. People often loot homes that have just burned down, especially if you live in a major city. Our dear friend Cameron sat in front of the house ALL NIGHT the evening following the fire with a six pack of beer and a baseball bat so that we could sleep. Unbelievably generous of him. He had no issues with anyone, but again, this is something to be conscious of.

4. If there are things that are salvageable in your home, you need to get them out as quickly as possible— not only to prevent the smell of fire from sinking in, but also so that your things won’t get stolen. We moved what was salvageable out of the house the day after. My understanding is also that insurance will not cover the theft of items if you have a disaster claim.

5. You will call your insurance. I have several thoughts on insurance:

   • If you are a small business owner who has business-related equipment at home, you should not get renters insurance. In our case, because we were in the process of creating a recording studio, we had lots and lots of gear for that business (even though I don’t think we even had an LLC). I recommend, if you are in a similar position, getting specific business insurance, or if you are also a musician with tons of gear, specifically getting studio insurance. With our renter’s insurance policy, we were only covered for up to two thousand dollars of equipment, far below the total value of the equipment… You need to be sure you are covered for your most valuable possessions. Half an hour of research now could save you tens of thousands of dollars later.

   • Insurance claims are highly specific. The difference between you getting compensated can be the difference in verbiage between “the water leaked” and “the water came through a hole in the roof.” Obviously— there’s a big difference between a fire claim and a water damage/flooding claim— but I cannot recommend strongly enough that you thoroughly read and understand what your claim actually says. Immediately after the fire my best friend Murphy read through my claim to double-check what I was actually covered for, because at the time I didn’t even know. Insurance is annoying, but it’s important to know what you’re covered for, and under what circumstances you’re entitled to compensation. The system is purposely confusing to the layperson. Get your smartest friend to help you.

   • You need to have one clear, short story to repeat to your insurance agent. I recommend writing down what you’re going to say before you call, just so you can keep it brief, because you are traumatized. Ideally, do this AFTER you have read through your claim and understand what you are covered for.

   • In my recollection, my insurance released a few thousand dollars to my bank account within days of the fire, collecting on the rest of the claim however, took months. Be prepared for that.

   • I recommend keeping an itemized list of everything in your home, with how much you paid for it. I had actually already done this for all of our music equipment. Even if you live very modestly, everything you own costs money. You can get compensated for a mattress, a rug, etc. (Also: I noticed that after the claim was completed, I was not compensated for items that I had recorded as being thrifted or vintage.) Keep in mind also, that insurance reimburses you for the cost of the item as it loses value over time. For higher-value items, such as computers, you will often be asked to provide a receipt. So that’s another thing to keep in mind. The more receipts you have, the better.

   • If you don’t want to itemize your entire home, the easiest thing to do is to slowly walk around your house and take a video of every room and the items in it.

6. The trauma will live inside of you. You have to take care of your body first. I was basically bedridden for months after this experience. Everything made me tired. I had psychosomatic pain in my diaphragm. Our downstairs neighbors who also survived the fire also dealt with ongoing fatigue, depression, and anxiety. It has taken me close to a year for my sleep to fully normalize. I recommend getting bodywork (acupuncture, reiki, massage) if you can afford it. After I moved home sometimes I would have my mom just hold my hand. Therapeutic touch is important— largely for bringing your animal body back into alignment with your very human brain. Similarly, no matter what, I recommend walking. I walked and walked for hours each day. It has become the most peaceful part of my life, and I don’t skip days. I also found that talking through these experiences with a trusted friend while walking was sometimes as cathartic as actual therapy.

7. Shortly after the fire, I talked to a family friend who had been through several major traumatic deaths in her immediate family. One thing she told me is that people grieve differently and at different rates. In retrospect, the way my now-ex and I processed the fire was very different, and that in and of itself can be a source of pain or tension. I don’t know how you prepare or work through that, but something to be aware of.

8. Grief and trauma are non-linear. I saw a therapist in person, who specialized in EDMR therapy. It has been perhaps the single most valuable therapeutic experience I’ve had in my life, but it took about 6 months to truly feel the wholistic effects of weekly therapy. A year later, I still feel grief that sometimes makes me not want to get out of bed for a day or two. I try to feel it and let it pass, but I do make myself walk no matter what.

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I will never get over the friends and family who helped us in the days, weeks and months following the fire. Too many to name. It makes me cry with gratitude. If you are reading this, thank you.

As you know, if you’ve been reading this year, my longterm relationship ended shortly after the house burned down. We were in engaged. In retrospect, it ended the day that house burned down— a year ago today. Something changed. I was shattered. It’s hard to convey how much pain I was in— unable to sleep, unable to eat. Sometimes I would just hold my body and say the word pain— trying to get myself to understand what it was that I was even experiencing. I was in so much distress that my body went numb. Often I still feel numb.

Sometimes my ex would say to me, “I make your life interesting.” It was often said in jest, but sometimes maybe not. That sentence haunted me after things ended. I worried that my life would be boring, that I have nothing to offer. I do not know if I make anyone's life interesting, but as my tolerance for pain expanded, so my enjoyment of and interest in life has increased. I laugh more, dance more. Life is decidedly un-boring, while still being fabulously menial. I laundered the sheets yesterday in a laundromat and some kids played with a plastic truck next to me. I noticed how blissfully calm I felt. Only through loss have I been able to wrap my being around the concept of radical acceptance. On the other side of everything I have ever been most afraid of in my life actually happening— I feel very free. Maybe unencumbered is the word. Confident. I am comfortable now, with the idea that relationships end, that not all love is forever. I’m comfortable knowing that stuff really does not matter, that the actual worst thing is losing someone you love, and even then, if nothing else, it is survivable. In my darkest moments, I genuinely wondered if I could keep living. And yet, here I am. Being silly, swimming in the ocean, texting boys, eating soft serve. I got a tan. I still believe in romantic love, but it feels less important than it did before. I miss intimacy, holding hands. But mostly I’m happy to be alone.

In the void space after the relationship ended, so much friendship, so many experiences have come through and only continue to come through. I have been more productive in the past six months than I have been in years. Perhaps I am not as square as I thought. Whenever I notice that I am white-knuckling something, I try to let go— let the current take me, even though I am still afraid. Sometimes I remind myself that I survived. With a scratch on my knuckle. Just a scratch. I only hope we can all be so lucky.

When Dusty and I got drinks the other night, in passing he said, “Well the point of life isn’t to be happy.” A thought I’ve been having a lot lately. It reminds me of that Mary Oliver poem:

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.

So that’s what to do when your house burns down, when you experience profound loss. In a particular way, there is nothing really to be done. The contrast, I am realizing, is what makes it so rich. There is no come up without hitting rock bottom. No victory lap without disappointment. Only through profound loss, can we realize the profundity of love. Perhaps that is the point.

Years ago I wrote that I wanted “More life! More life! More life!”

Ask and you shall receive. Still, the sentiment holds true. All a gift.

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