prompt: fire

The 100 year old brick house stood connected to a huge lot on the famous corner of Mack and Burns in Detroit. We purchased the abandoned house for $10,000 and it was completely remodeled. We were given beautiful oak kitchen cabinets from a family up north who was redoing their kitchen in white. When my husband wasn’t working 100 hours a week in the hospital as a resident physician he spent his other waking moments preparing the house. We painted the walls and redid the bathrooms. Every square inch had been touched with a loving hand. 

The move happened in July and by winter our baby girl joined our family making us now 5. It was a cold night and the new wood burning stove was lit and blowing hot air. I had just showered and was cuddled up on the couch with my infant, chatting with my husband, and our 2 friends while our young boys were asleep in their room. We heard our 2 year old son calling. I looked at my husband in confusion and he quickly headed up the stairs… he wasn’t even halfway up when it clicked- my heart sank and then raced- my body grew hot and I started running to beat him up the stairs. He opened the door to Clayton standing in his crib crying out, the other brother, Bentley was three and fast  asleep unaware anything was happening outside of his dreams. It was smokey, but not overwhelmingly so, until my husband opened the closet door where I kept my clothes (100 year old homes didn’t account for modern day wardrobes, which meant my clothes were in their room). As he opened the door flames broke out from the wake of oxygen and he shouted to grab the boys. I ended up in an adjacent bedroom with them in my arms, a visiting friend grabbed Lily so I could embrace them more securely while I  sobbed.  David and our other friend opened the window and started throwing burning clothes out the window from the second story and into the snow below. 

I knew right away what had happened. My closet didn’t have a light and phones didn’t come equipped with ready flashlights like they do now- I strung a lightbulb meant for a paper lantern around the pole in my closet. When I was done, I pushed the clothes towards each other trapping the lightbulb between them and then proceeded to shower without unplugging it. 

I was without sleep with 2 active boys and a brand new baby- so of course it happened. A tired mother, an old home, and a bad idea to have a light bulb strung in a closet. Full of guilt I looked up from the faces of my boys to meet the faces of our friends and my husband who sat silently next to me until my chest lifted and I exhaled relief that everyone was alive and well. 

Two Words

He came into the world in the middle of a sweltering Michigan summer and the hospital air conditioning gave a welcome relief to the heat and humidity. For months I had planned exactly how this moment would go. The birth was harder than I imagined, but I was so relieved to meet my son that I almost forgot about the pain instantly. After what seemed like an eternity of being alone the neonatologist came to announce her predicted diagnosis: Down syndrome. After a longer than normal hospital stay and a slew of tests we’d leave with another diagnosis: a VSD and a PDA- minor heart complications that may or may not need surgery. Only time would tell.

 I was young and uncompromising and refused to know the baby’s gender in utero, didn’t do any prenatal testing, was determined to avoid medication, and planned to breastfeed. The lactation consultant came in to let me know he’d probably never nurse. “Their mouths are weak, “ she informed me. I was also reminded that we wouldn’t know how his heart would heal and that could negatively impact his feeding and weight gain as well.

 I left the hospital with a rented commercial grade pump, tiny bottles, syringes, and their backup plan- infant formula. “For when you need it,” they said. I pumped every couple hours for an hour’s time and then syringe fed my baby drops of precious milk to avoid nipple confusion for weeks. I was exhausted and yet completely determined. Eventually the bottles faded away and I could feed my baby without equipment. I would cuddle up on the couch with my baby and turn on the tv show Alias. Eventually he learned that when he heard the intro song he’d start moving his head to find his milk!

At his four month check up the pediatrician weighed my son and then began the usual litany of questions- including “how’s he sleeping?” I wake him up every four hours to eat, I said. She stopped and looked at me with a slight smile and warm eyes. “He’s 17 pounds, you can let him sleep through the night.” I can only imagine I exhaled a huge sigh of relief- oh sleep, beautiful sleep.


At 6 months he had a follow up with a new cardiologist. The cardiologist was encouraged by his strong weight gain. He asked me if my baby had any “other” medical conditions. “No,” I answered. He continued to examine him- looking at his profile, his eyes, chin, and hands. After another series of questions I finally said, “Well, he has Down syndrome too you know.” “No, I didn’t know! Don’t you think I’d want to know that? That is a medical condition.” I felt so small sitting in his sterile exam room. I was holding the little baby I had been so proudly feeding independently, only to be reminded that his accomplishments would always be compared with the same two heavy words: Down syndrome.