Puff and a Miracle

Puff and a Miracle
In late September 1970 I survived a house fire. It was before my eighth birthday. Initially, my brother who was age nine, my father and my mother had forgotten about me. I had been in a deep sleep from two injuries and an allergic reaction I'd had from a medicine for one of the injuries. I was dead to the world for four hours. I woke up stairs to smoked filled rooms I was groggy from a drug I was given after school

As I got to the top of the thirteen stairs that lead to our kitchen that was on fire, I heard a commotion. Standing at the top of the staircase I realized having trouble breathing that I couldn't see a thing. It was what seemed a thick white smokey film. I yelled at the top of my lungs, "Mom!!!!" I took three steps down unable to see, then my my right arm was grabbed. I saw nothing, yet felt the pull. As I was on my butt, the grab dragged me down to the bottom of the stairs. I knew to stay on the ground. It was Mom, I could not see her clearly. Yet as I crawled, I heard her tell me orders of what to do. And where to go with my brother.

My brother was losing it. As the two of us got out of our home, our parents remained in the kitchen fighting the fire in our rented barn home. I knew then to pray, yet I also knew death could ensue. My mom always told us to take care of one another and that my brother carried the name . So, I knew to be true to our mother's orders, I pulled at my crying self-centered, older brother, and reminded him that our mother knew what she was doing. He followed my demand. In the end our parents saved our home, we lost our cabinets, our fridge, and most of our food.

The next morning my brother and I were on time for school although with barely any sleep. My voice and throat felt scorched for a few days , yet we were all alive still and still had a roof over our heads. Ironically, the thing I remember probably the most was, as the firefighters allowed us to go back into our home at about midnight, with fans blasting upstairs just outside the bedroom my brother and I shared. You could hear music on our record player. As I walked up the thirteen steps, the song playing was "Puff the Magic Dragon", by Peter, Paul and Mary.---Jody-Lynn Reicher

Comments

Completion of Humanness

Completion of Humanness As we arrive to the completion of the first year without Norman, I had decided long before he'd passed that I would continue to do things certain things he liked yet could no longer do. I decided I would not take a day off of fitness. I would run at least for 500 days in a row. I began that in early 2020. I'd not be concerned with the distance I'd run. It was the very thing I convinced Norman and the thing that mattered to him, from the very first discussion we had August 11th, 1981, was fitness. I loved that he was a College Boy. He loved that I was a Marine. We tickled each other's soul with such admirations. Later fitness continued as an old discussion from 1994 ...getting outside and to run no matter what. I would say to him, "Run 200 meters, then 400 meters. If it doesn't feel good, stop. Turn around and walk back home and know you did your best. That is all you can ask of yourself." I said this, knowing he would get dow

In My World

As I finish putting away the week's groceries, I contemplate other's lives. Aside from my two daughters, I consider what may be other's lives. How they have conducted their lives over the past two years. This is a thought not unusual for me to have. Yet, it occurs more often than not. Especially now, as the population is probably feeling ever more irked. Regarding perhaps. their illusion of any lack of their freedom. But isn't that what life is about? The illusion of who we are. What we are about. Where we stand on the planet. Who we love. And who loves us. Our significance. Couldn't we imagine if this were all just an illusion? Sounds like a "Twighlight Zone" episode, perhaps. My aim here, are the thoughts of reckoning. I'll explain why I'm claiming such a thing. For about twenty-eight years of a career in dealing with injured athletes, pain patients, chronically ill and the terminally ill. I found that there were many people who lied to

It's About the Soul And...

...perhaps the soles of our shoes. My father-in-law used to say the feet are what soldiers depend on, as we do food. He said that to me in 1985 as I stood in his home office. My husband, Norman was a shoe guy. And it was all about the soles on the shoes. For me, the way I have stayed on my feet was soul deep. Sometimes praying every step of the way, to not fall over out of exhaustion. The approximately 170,000 miles of running, many of which Norman had witnessed or known of. He wondered how I stayed standing working on my feet all day. Only to come home, and go for a second run at midnight at times. Often Norman would give me a lecture on good shoe care. It was about the soles of the shoes. He'd point out stitching on a shoe that was done wrong. Therefore commenting, "...giving a shoe less time of wear on this earth." He'd remark quite often. "You have to buy good quality shoes." I have to say, there was absolutely something comedic about his shoe obse

Writing Reality

Search This Blog