What is Important?

There is something surreal about waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of chaos and realizing your neighbour’s house is on fire.

One minute I was asleep in my bed. The next, I was standing on my deck staring at flames climbing the stairs of the house next door.

Their deck is only about a metre from mine.

I remember not thinking. Not really. I grabbed the hose and started spraying toward the flames while they climbed higher into the night sky. Hugh came out and started spraying too. Everything was happening so quickly, but at the same time it felt strangely silent inside of me.

Then I ran back into the house because I honestly thought ours was going to go too.

And this part has stayed with me.

When I tried to decide what mattered enough to save, there was almost nothing I could think of except my phone and my wallet.

That was it.

Not the boxes of memories. Not furniture. Not all the little things we spend years collecting and protecting. In that moment, life became incredibly simple.

Outside, firefighters were arriving. Smoke filled the air. Sirens echoed through the neighbourhood. Flames spread to the house on the other side while somehow, through a shift in the wind and a lot of luck, ours did not catch.

But something in me still did.

At the time I handled it almost calmly. Adrenaline is a strange thing. It keeps you moving when your mind hasn’t fully caught up to what’s happening.

I think the fear arrived afterward.

And through all of this was a tiny foster dog who had only recently come into my life.

A one-year-old little soul who is scared of almost everything.

He was there the night of the fire. Terrified. He shook and peed all over me while the world exploded into noise and lights and fear around us. And honestly, I don’t blame him at all. I think both of our nervous systems were overwhelmed.

Since then, we’ve both been learning how to settle again.

Every day he gets a little braver.

He sleeps deeply now, curled into blankets and stuffed animals instead of hiding in fear. He watches me with trust instead of panic. Sometimes he peeks around corners with those giant ears and cautious eyes like he’s trying to decide if the world might actually be safe after all.

Maybe that’s what healing is.

Not becoming fearless.

Just slowly learning safety again, one day at a time.