Tragedy strikes

I've always thought that was such a hackneyed phrase: "tragedy strikes". Tragedy always seems to strike, it never just happens or appears or erupts; it always strikes, and so I try not to use the phrase. In the case at hand, though, it's precisely right.

We had a monster thunderstorm last weekend that stalled over Wilmington for more than two hours and dumped several inches of much needed rain on us. What we didn't need was the wind and thunder and lightning. Especially the lightning, for in the midst of it all we saw the flash and heard the nearly simultaneous crack of thunder. Ann and I knew it had been close, but we had no idea just how very close it was.

The heavy rain continued for another hour or two, so we stayed inside, even though I could smell the smoke and hear the fire trucks approaching. In our minds it seemed as though that loud strike was getting closer and closer by the minute. Finally the storm began to move away and we were able to leave to meet some friends for dinner. It was then that we discovered just how close the tragedy had, in fact, struck.

The next street over from us, directly out our front window, was the still burning ruins of a neighbor's brand new home. This is the view looking up at the entrance hall ceiling when the next morning I went in where the front door had been:




The whole house was a soggy, smelly, totally uninhabitable mess, and underfoot where the floor had been were inches of soaked litter. The once-living room, blackened debris everywhere, looked like this:







...and the bedroom, where the lightning had actually hit the house and apparently broken and ignited a natural gas pipeline, looked this way:




Ernie and Cathy, after years of many moves and months spent as "boat gypsies", had finally decided to settle down here in our neighborhood and sink some roots, but now, after only a month or so in their dream home they were back to Square One, home and furnishings all gone, burned out. Their eyes were still red from smoke and tears as they told of the personal treasures now lost.

Fortunately there was no one at home when the lightning struck so there were no injuries, although they're still grieving the loss of one of their two lovely Persian cats who ran but still hasn't come home. The phone lines going into the 911 center were also victims of the storm, so one of the neighbors had to drive to the nearest fire station to sound the alarm. The firemen did a great job when they arrived, but by then all they could do was contain the fire and try to salvage as much as possible.

It was Saturday afternoon when the fire started, and early Monday morning insult was added to injury when the neighborhood woke up to find red lights flashing on five-count-'em-five fire trucks and one ambulance that had returned to the scene. Even after getting the fire department's full treatment and then absorbing nearly two days of rain, the fire sprang back to life again. This time, we hope, it's totally out and the fire is over.

Well, there's really no great lesson to be learned from all this, no profound moral to conclude the tale. Stuff happens, even tragic stuff. When lightning strikes a home it's usually a tragedy, but more than that. Dozens of new neighbors, some of whom hadn't even had the chance to learn Ernie and Cathy's name, appeared with dry clothes and hot coffee and food and umbrellas and chairs to sit on. One brought a kitty-treat for the lonesome cat. Others offered their sympathies and their prayers.

It's the always amazing but never surprising story that's repeated every time that, well, tragedy strikes.