A few years later, our 100-year-old house caught fire while we were at church. Driving home over the bridge, we saw black smoke. When we pulled up, the road was blocked off and four fire departments were there.
The fire was on the second floor. The flames didn’t take the house. The water they used to put them out did. It came through the ceiling and sat on the first floor, and the house leaned, then tilted, then gave out. It had been standing on two-foot pillars with sand underneath them the whole time.
When it came down, it came down in one piece. Tongue and groove, locked together that solid.
I loved that house. I never wanted to rebuild it. Nobody asked me.
Here’s the part people get wrong. The fire took the house. The rebuild took everything else. Friends. My network. My neighbors. My church. The legacy home. Not one of those went in the fire. They went during the rebuild.
We rebuilt anyway, on a better foundation. What came back: my tribe through eWomenNetwork, the home I’d wanted for decades, my daughters’ husbands, and my daughters as actual friends. Church and neighbors, I’m still working on. That’s allowed too.
Nobody wants to rebuild. You rebuild anyway. The only choice you get is whether you do it on purpose.