Daughter Rebecca's Essay

Here is a thoughtful writing by my daughter to whom (she and her family) we are much indebted for taking us into their home during the wildfires.

Rebecca Chance Cordova

The events of the past five days - (has it only been five? - it seems like time has stopped) -are beginning to sink in and I am amazed at the incredible force of this fire and the incredible bravery of fire crews and officials who are working tirelessly around the clock to save structures, people, whole communities and... cities. My heart breaks for those who have lost homes and swells with gratitude that no one has been injured or killed yet, which surely in the midst of an inferno that could triple in a day is a miracle. I am not affected in my practical life - I still go to work, the grocery store, the YMCA. My family is safe, although my parents are evacuated, but their home still stands and we appreciate that we are together. There is the constant smell of smoke, ashes falling from the air, and as I drive down I-25 from Briargate Parkway towards Garden of the Gods Road, I can see that to the west is a ghost town - completely evacuated. No one is at work or at home - everything is still and empy under the blanket of smoke that rests here most heavily. Beyond where I can see, I kow there are areas of ash where homes once stood. At a recent press conference, this angry question was asked to the officials, "Who is in charge around here?" I thought to myself how in that question the basic desire of all humanity is raised - how can this happen to us? Who is going to stop it? And there is no true definitive answer. Surely there is a greater power than us all at work here. And our human fraility is exposed - we must adapt to the unthinkable, the frightening, the upredictable. Yet those moments are rich with triumph - the brave firefigters, police, and pilots who rise to meet the terrifying blaze. The ordinary citizens who reach out to meet the needs of others with shelter, clothing, food, comfort. In the midst of this destruction, there is the rich opportunity for so much giving, sharing, gratitude, and bravery. We become better because we have less than we did before. It is in these moments that grace is breathtaking.

The Flowers

This morning Lois and I were ordering breakfast in Panero's, when a young man in a wheel chair and holding a large bouquet of flowers in his lap got in line. As we were eating, we saw him opening the door to his vehicle parked in the handicapped space, when a young woman wearing an apron came running out with flowers in hand and tearfully embraced him. After smiles, hugs and kisses, she returned to work, flowers in hand. Using his strong upper body, he lifted himself into the driver's seat and slowly dismantled his wheel chair putting each piece on the seat next to him. When his labors were done, he backed up and drove away.

The Rain Man

As I rounded a lap in the Y pool, a guy asked if he and a friend could join me. "Sure," I said.

It was evident that his fiend was mentally challenged. Bob introduced himself and whispered, "Mike is the Rain Man."

"How so?" I inquired.

"Oh, he remembers everything--days, dates, times...and weather--he doesn't like Seattle weather where he lives, but remembers it in detail." Bob went on to tell me that Mike is an uncle of his wife and visits every summer to give relief to Mike's caretaker sister. Bob and I swam; Mike water-walked.

After our swim, Mike and I were in the shower; just what do you say to the Rain Man?

"Hey, Mike, when did you come to Colorado Springs?"

"Thursday, June 7, 2012, at ah, ah, 4:32 p.m. on Alaska Airlines Flight 632. I am leaving on Friday, June 22, 2012, at 7:00 a.m. on Alaska Airlines Flight 2442. On October 31, 2011 I visited my niece, my niece, in Spokane. It was Halloween, a Monday, a Monday, uh, seven months, two weeks and one day ago."

I said, "My daughter and family live in Wenatchee and are moving to Spokane."

"Yeah, I took the bus back from Spokane to Seattle on November 15, 2011, ah 213 days ago. I went through Moses Lake--lots of sun, Quncy, Wenatchee--it was cloudy there, Leavenworth, into the Cascade Mountains over Stevens Pass and into Seattle."

"Mike, I was born May 23, 1941. Do you know what day that was?

"Ah, May 23, 1941...ah, ah, that was a Friday...ah, ah, 71 years, three weeks and one day ago."

As I dressed, Mike continued to tell me in explicit detail of his past several years. His conversation was interspersed with "Got to get the key to this locker from Bob, got to get the key, from Bob, from Bob."

I will always remember the Rain Man.