I open my eyes to the darkness, my throat filled with desert sand and tumbleweeds. My right hand lightly shifts, searching for the top of my periwinkle sheets. As I clutch the cotton sheets, moving them to my side, I slowly rise, as any sharp movement may disturb my slumber. My toes dissolve into the new carpet surrounding my feet in a false sense of warmth and familiarity.

   As I instinctively turn the corner from my bedroom to the hallway, my hand reaches for the deep cherry wood railing to guide me down the stairs, but instead, I feel cold metal. Where’s the cherry wood? For 16 years I depended on that cherry wood railing to guide me, but now that warm security was gone. The cold pierces the tip of my middle finger and I quickly draw it back to my center. I continue walking the downward slope of the seemingly endless staircase to the kitchen. As I lift my foot from the carpet, it begs me to come back, like quicksand; I should have gone back.

   In 2017, my house burned down in the devastating Tubbs fire that raced through Sonoma County. Now that my home has been rebuilt, I’ve faced even more confusion than I did when I was living in rental houses. Coping with loss and accepting reality is always a struggle. I have dreams returning back to my old house running through and feeling the carpet, wood and tile on my feet only to wake up to the reality of ash. I suffer loss all over again with every dream.

   Now I walk through my new house like a ghost. The skeleton is the same, but it’s body feels so cold. Everything feels of a foreign comfort. Although I saw almost every faucet choice and carpet sample available they all seemed to blur from my memory to what it was before. In every dream and every thought I had about coming back home I knew it would be different--ever since the fire that’s what everyone always told me--I just couldn’t imagine anything structurally similar, yet entirely different.

   Daily life has its challenges with people thinking their words can compensate for my loss: “Oh it’s just stuff. Now you can buy new things.” or “Now you can design it how you want it!” is my new reality, yet they didn’t understand what I want is my safe haven back. Our family congregates differently, eating at different times, different rooms, and different foods I’m stuck in my past’s parallel. Everyone always offers to talk, making me relive the emotion and details all over again, then the fears flood back into my body. So I shut out all the voices and just try to be happy again, or at least fake it.

   We often hold memories within objects. An empty mass of lost memories hovers over me daily, as the objects disappeared so have the memories associated with them. My house left me before I could leave it. I constantly crave something concrete from my past, and although nothing was salvageable, I have been able to recreate my past within my future working with foster children.

   I work to provide coping strategies through faith and art therapy. Subconsciously I believe it’s my own coping mechanism, helping during their abrupt transitions in order to correct the memories of my own. I’ve started a program called Fostering Together helping children acclimate to new environments. Together we’ve been able to cope with reality. We both wake to a foreign home with our comforts stripped from our lives, everyday searching for strength in what’s constant. Through the fires and working with these kids I’ve learned the true value of my family. I’m okay now, not because I am brave but that I have been supported. I am recovering with my family, and my community.