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What Do You Do When Your House is on Fire?

What Do You Do When Your House is on Fire?

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You never think it could happen to you, and when it does, you don't know where to start. There are many split decisions to make. Here are a few places to start, and a first-hand account of someone who has been through a house fire.

1. Don’t Waste Time. Gather Your Family and Leave the House Immediately

If there’s an out of control fire in your house, don’t dawdle. Household items can be replaced, but human life cannot be. Gather your family and get out.

2. Call for Help

Alert firefighters from a neighbor’s phone. The sooner the fire can be put out, the better chance you have of salvaging your house.

3. Prepare for a Long Restoration Period

Plan on staying at a motel or family member’s house for an extended time. If insurance will cover the damage, you’ll need to list every single item in the house and the cost of each. Restoring the house could take six months or more. You may need a dumpster rental or two.

4. Cherish What You Have

Appreciate the moments you have with your family because disaster can strike when you least expect. Even in times of chaos like a house fire, make the most of unfortunate situations with your loved ones.

5. Take Steps to Avoid Future House Fires

Blow out candles and unplug electric blankets, heaters, and appliances like toasters when you’re not using them. Simple actions like this can avoid an unnecessary disaster.

A burning house and smoke so thick it looks like night and the sun almost blacked out.
800Photo by Jen Theodore on Unsplash

A Firsthand Account: Surviving a House Fire

The Initial Warning

I was curled up on the couch watching TV when I smelled something burning. I checked the kitchen and laundry room. Everything seemed to be in order. There wasn’t any smoke in the living room either. The smell became stronger as I carefully walked to my bedroom door. It was closed, but I was afraid to touch it fearing it would open as it didn’t always latch properly. So, I put my hand as close as I dared and I could feel the heat. Clearly, something was burning in that room and I wasn’t taking any chances.

Trying not to panic, I went to the kids' bedrooms, woke them, and calmly told them to get outside. I told my son to grab the dog, and I snatched my purse from the kitchen table. Looking back, I’m glad I had the good sense to pile them in the car and park up the street in front of the neighbor’s house; our kids were good friends, and they played together every day.

After pounding on the door, they finally answered. “I think my house is on fire; I need to call 911,” I said.  Dispatch got the fire department on the phone and I explained what happened. No smoke, no visible flames, just that burning smell and the heat from the door.

“Is everyone out of the house?” a man on the other end of the line asked.

“Yes. I’ve got the kids and the dog. My husband is away on a fishing trip. We’re just up the street at a friend’s house.”

“Stay there. We’re on our way. Don’t go back to the house to get anything.”

The wait seemed like forever until I finally heard sirens and saw the flashing lights. Three fire trucks, an ambulance, and two police cars crowded our street.  Firemen scurried to find the closest hydrant and hook up hoses that rolled from their trucks like serpents ready to strike. We walked down the street and stood on our next door neighbor’s sidewalk. She was already outside talking to the fire chief, but after seeing me barefoot, she went in and brought me an old pair of sneakers to put on my feet.

I remember standing on my neighbor’s sidewalk, my four children huddled around me. At 3:30 in the middle of the night, we were all in our night clothes as the chief approached me. We could see smoke now, but no flames.

“Where was the smell coming from?” he asked.

“The master bedroom; it’s in the back on the north side of the house,” I answered, starting to tremble. “I’m afraid of an explosion; my husband’s hunting rifle is under the bed, and there’s ammunition in the closet.”

“How much?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t use the gun. Maybe three or four boxes.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve handled more, and we’ll try to keep…” His voice trailed off.

The Flames

At the sound of breaking glass, flames encompassed the side of the house and reached the roof. Thick black smoke raced toward the sky.

I started to cry and hugged the kids as the chief ran off directing his crew. They were pouring water into the house, onto the detached garage, and on the roofs of the two houses on both sides of ours. I have no idea how long it took to put out the fire. I was probably in shock, but in the end the entire master bedroom was completely burned. After giving my account to the fire inspector of what happened, in my ignorance I thought we could still use the rest of the house while we rebuilt that one room.

“You’ll have to go to a hotel,” he advised me, “and I’ll show you so you’ll understand.”

It was daylight by now and he gave me a mask to wear as he walked me toward the house. As I stepped through the front door, nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. Everything was black with soot and soaked with water. The stench choked me and I could only walk inside a few feet—but that was far enough — our home, as we knew it, was gone. My grandmother’s antiques I’d treasured for years, everything my husband and my children valued — gone. If you’ve ever been through it, you know exactly what I mean and how I felt.

I didn’t know how to begin to put our lives back together, and when my husband returned from his fishing trip with a catch we would plan to cook in our kitchen…my mind reeled, I didn’t even know how to contact him. He had his favorite fishing spots, but I had no idea where they were and he wouldn’t be home for three days. Home. Gone. Somehow, I had to either find him, or at the very least be there when he arrived. And the cause — an electric blanket I’d turned on because my back was aching. Apparently when I couldn’t sleep, the blanket got bunched up at the foot of the bed when I got up to watch TV. I couldn’t even blame it on an act of nature, and I felt like it was my fault.

A Temporary Sanctuary

With nothing else we could do, we checked in at a local motel in our night clothes and the dog in tow. We got two adjoining rooms, one for me and one for the kids. I called my insurance agent, and then my grown children. We agreed to meet at the house around 10 am, and I hoped I could catch a couple hours of sleep.  I also called the State Police and gave them the description of my husband’s truck and the license plate number. It was a shot in the dark, but just maybe they’d see him driving on the road.

Before we could meet up with my family, we went shopping for clothes, shoes, and of course, dog food. Nothing expensive or fancy; we’d probably never wear these few things again. I got a lot of strange looks shopping in my night gown and a borrowed jacket. I was lucky I grabbed my purse so I could purchase what we needed; I know some people lose everything and have no extra money at all.

A firefighter putting out a house fire at night.
8800Photo by Esri Esri on Unsplash

The Importance of Family

I met up with my family about an hour later—my two grown daughters and their husbands, my oldest son, and my sister and her husband. One of them had the foresight to call for a dumpster which was delivered by mid-afternoon. I had told them about the soot and the stench. They were prepared with old clothes and didn’t mind getting filthy.

What was left of the living room furniture sat on the front lawn. Luckily, they all brought gloves and masks. Next, the contents of each bedroom was carried out, and the dumpster arrived just in time. By then we were all exhausted and called it quits for the day. We all headed to a pancake house to get something to eat after which they headed home and we went back to the motel.

My sister’s husband and one of my daughter’s husband worked nights, so they were able to help the next day. We ran some long extension cords from our neighbors and set up some box fans to try to clear the smell from the house. With buckets of hot soapy water, we wiped down the washer and tried to wash clothing from various dressers, but even after two washings the smell remained. We couldn’t use the dryer, so we hung the clothes on the clothesline in the backyard. Everything from the drawers and the closets reeked and had to be thrown out; some of the things had meaning for my children.

There were a lot of tears. My kids had things it broke their hearts to part with, and all my grandmother’s antiques were a total loss. Finally came the end to another sad day.

The Dreaded Paperwork

Back at the hotel, I tried to make a list of everything as it was required by the insurance company. Only the kids knew what was in their closets and dressers, so the following day we went into the dumpster, each of us armed with a pad of paper and a pen, and the lists began to come together. You just don’t realize how many clothes your kids have until they are gone. Once that was complete, we listed what was in the closets. Pages and pages later, we thought we had a pretty good idea of what was gone and what it had cost. We also tried to save the dressers by washing them down and setting the drawers in the sun. It didn’t help. I tried to avoid looking into what was the master bedroom; the dressers burnt beyond recognition.

Then I remembered the linen closet—at least two sets of bedding for five beds, bath towels, hand towels, and wash cloths. Comforters for both summer and winter weather. Extra sets of curtains I’d kept, heavier drapes for cold weather. Doilies and a large lace table cloth, lovingly hand crocheted by my grandmother. All lost. The soot didn’t wash out and neither did the smell. Fortunately, important papers had been kept in a metal box on the top shelf. While the edges of some of them were burnt, they were intact.

In the bathrooms, the shower curtains melted along with the rings that held them on the rod, toothbrushes contorted beyond recognition, and inside the medicine cabinets bottles of medications stood blackened. The cabinets under the sinks didn’t fare any better. Ice bags, curling irons, hair brushes, body wash, shampoo and conditioner all in plastic bottles lied there like dead soldiers on a battlefield. I still avoided the master bedroom.

Another heart-breaking day was over and we headed back to the motel to shower. We all were physically and emotionally exhausted. I fell asleep during my prayers, thanking God that we were all safe, and asking for my husband to have had his fill of fishing and come home soon.

The next morning when the phone rang I thought it was my wake up call, but it was too early. It was the front desk informing me that the State Police had located my husband. He was on his way home. They spotted his truck parked on the side of the road and found him under the bridge in his waders doing what he loved to do. I don’t know what they told him or how he reacted; I guessed I’d find out soon enough.

Later that afternoon, my daughter and I were washing the dishes from the cupboards. Most everything that wasn’t plastic could be salvaged. Some of the pots and pans that had metal handles were okay, too. It felt good to save some things when the mixer, blender, handle of the iron, and food processor had to hit the trash.

It wasn’t long before I heard the kids yelling, “Dad’s home!” I ran out the front door crying with relief, and went straight into his arms. After being reassured we were all okay, including the dog, we walked hand in hand into the house. He was not normally an emotional person, but when he removed his glasses to wipe tears from his eyes, I knew he was devastated. After all, the kids and I had been slowly adjusting to the sight as we saved what we could, and he was seeing what was left of our home for the first time.

We took time to get some lunch and planned how to proceed. It was a relief, now that he was home, and I didn’t have to make all the decisions alone. As a carpenter, he had some contacts and was able to reach a contractor and an architect. There were changes we could and should make when considering a rebuild, after a remediation company tried to clean the walls without success.

A messy white paint tray with a paint roller on a table.
Photo by KJ Styles on Unsplash

You Don’t Know What You’ve Got ‘til It’s Gone

The weekend began with everyone on board. A second and larger dumpster replaced the first one and everything was removed from the house. Sheet after sheet of drywall was torn out as well as the insulation. An electrician came to rewire the house so we would have power. We were down to the studs when the architect came by to see what we wanted to do. He would draw up the plans. The only things left for our convenience were the toilet which I surrounded with old sheets for privacy and the kitchen sink.

The proper permits were pulled and the restoration began. All the studs were primed in hopes of eliminating the smell. Walls were knocked out and resituated. Insulation was going in and the new drywall would follow. We were able to save the bay window and the front door. The rest of the windows and doors had to be replaced. There would be inspections every step of the way, and we realized we wouldn’t be leaving the motel for a while. The management was great, and considering the circumstances, they moved us to a conference room where everyone could have their own bed. It had a large conference table with chairs so we could sit down for a meal.  We got a fridge, a microwave, a two burner electric cooking plate, toaster, crock pot, and an electric frying pan so we didn’t have to eat out constantly.

Before the fire, my pantry was full of food. The fire ruined everything — canned goods bulging so badly their labels were torn, and baking supplies too numerous to list. The fridge was full and the freezer above it also full. The freezer in the garage held more pounds of spoiled meat than I could count. Nothing could be saved due to the heat and the lack of power. It nearly killed me to throw out thousands of dollars worth of food. Thankfully, the insurance covered it, and I was able to go shopping.

To add insult to injury, the first contractor quit, or he just disappeared as we were never able to reach him again. The second contractor we hired was somewhat better, and he was easy to work with until I told him I didn’t want any of the walls textured. He subbed out the windows to another contractor and that went well. Whatever we were going to do in the house had to be done before the hardwood floors went in, and we were anxious to get home because the weather was getting cold.

Thanksgiving came and went. When it became clear we wouldn’t be home by Christmas, we bought a tree. All of our Christmas decorations were in the garage which was left unscathed. The ornaments the kids had made in grade school decorated our little tree. As much as we missed home, we celebrated. We were all alive and everything we lost could be replaced…maybe not with items that held the same meaning or memories, but with things we would come to love.

A young boy holding a small dog in a dim lit kitchen.
Photo by Patty M.

In mid-January, we moved back into our home. It still wasn’t finished; there were curtain rods to install so we could cover the windows, beds and furniture to buy, and of course, food. It wasn’t perfect, but it was safe. We slept in sleeping bags on the floor for about a week, and as much as it hurt my back, I vowed to never own an electric blanket again.

By spring, six months after the fire, everything was complete and the horrid smell was gone. I’ve never been one to like new things, but I appreciated what we had and eventually found some pieces that resembled my grandmother’s. Her piano had been totally revamped by a local craftsman, and I could put my fingers on the same keys she and her mother had. The wedding picture of her and my grandfather was restored and it hung above the piano.

Life was good again, and we treasured every moment of it like we never had before. It felt like we had been to hell and back, but no one lost their life. We survived…and my son had his beloved dog, Charlie.

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