It’s OK to grieve for what was lost in Colorado wildfires

It’s easy to think — “It’s just stuf f.” As I write this, it’s estimated that hundreds of homes were lost in recent Colorado fires, including the homes of some first responders.

Thanks to the heroic actions of firefighters and other emergency workers, at this writing most lives were spared.

A life saved is a blessing beyond words.

To escape with our lives when flames lick at our doorsteps is a miracle never forgotten.

So, we’re tempted to say, “Well, it’s just ‘stuff’” when we escape with our lives but lose a home and all our possessions.

But the loss of a home cuts deep!

Houses hold our memories. And the loss of a house — a home — brings sadness — grief — trauma.

Losing possessions is more than “stuff.”

Homes embrace the spirit of our lives.

It’s losing family photos, a yearbook, a high school letter jacket.

And what about your grandmother’s favorite recipes carefully written on 3-by-5 index cards?

Your dog’s favorite toy, the family christening gown, a menorah.

The cof fee mug that fits snugly in your hand.

As I write this, I’m reminded of a house fire Bill and I had when we were renting a house on Abeyta Court near 18th Street in Loveland.

We’d only lived at the house for two years. The year was 1966. Our daughters and I were in downtown Loveland picking up airline tickets at Loveland Travel Agency for a family vacation set for the next morning when our garage exploded.

Word of the fire reached Bill at Hewlett-packard.

When I arrived in our neighborhood, I noticed cars parked ever ywhere.

I didn’t realize the fire was at our house or that the cars were those of volunteer firefighters.

I don’t recall seeing a firetruck — presumably because the fire was out at that point. Gradually it all sank in. Grateful shivers ran through me when I saw Bill come running toward us — all five of us were safe.

The garage was filled with wet ashes.

Inside — except for some smoke and water damage from the roof — our belongings were safe, but the house was no longer fit for occupancy.

I felt bad that the fire occurred on our watch. Our kindly landlord never said a cross word to us after the fire.

After I got my bearings, I asked the firefighters: “Did I leave the stove on? Is that what started the fire?”

The firefighters reassured me that the fire star ted in the garage — possibly fumes from a container of gasoline interacted with a gas water heater located in the garage.

Even with reassurances from the firefighters, I experienced obsessivecompulsive disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder tendencies after the fire.

Neither of these terms were in popular usage in 1966 — and it was nice to give a name to my syndromes later.

For years afterward, I found myself checking and rechecking to see if I’d turned off the stove and whenever I heard a fire siren, I’d startle.

We didn’t have many possessions in the house on Abeyta Cour t, but if a fire occurred now — in our present home — one our family has enjoyed for decades — the loss would rip at my spirit.

So, at this time, my heart goes out to those who’ve lost homes in the fire and I’m grateful that you are safe.

But I also understand that the loss of possessions is not simply “stuf f.”

It’s the soul of your home.

You will heal, but — in the process of healing it’s OK to grieve for “stuff.”