Forgetting how to breathe

Our dear friend Kimberly intentionally waited until New Years Day to come and see us after the fire. She knew it was symbolic and would have much meaning for us - turning the page, starting fresh, a new canvas. After the hugs and the gentle words and the gift card to a favorite local restaurant (the one, in fact, that we had dined at a mere 8 hours before everything changed), she told us that she wanted to draw up the plans for our new home, as a gift. If you have ever hired an architect before, you know how costly it can be (and worth every penny). And in the midst of all of our pain, shock, devastation, and uncertainty came this amazingly strong sunbeam. I told Kimberly that I felt like she had just given us mouth-to-mouth resuscitation when we had forgotten how to breathe. I told her that I felt like I was under a rock in a deep, dark place - and that she had lifted that rock which let me see a beautiful blue sky - still out there, waiting for us - all we had to do was look up. How do thank a friend who does that for you in your darkest hour?

There are others to thank - so many. The outpouring of love and support has been absolutely breathtaking, and extremely humbling. Our friend Baze simply took charge of the "situation" - from 1500 miles away. While we were standing there immobilized by shock, wondering what just happened to our lives, he sprung to action. It is no surprise, really - he is that kind of man (heartfelt thanks to Janet and Papa Joe, who raised him). Baze is a man with a ridiculously huge heart, and a sense of humor to match. So while we stood there, mouths agape, brains spinning in a feeble attempt to comprehend - simply unable to process anything ("Where do we go?", "What do we do?" and, oh, "I guess we need shoes") Baze spread the word far and wide. He set up a paypal account for us and told everyone about it. And I mean everyone. He rallied the troops, and they came running. This is how it is possible that a rental house which was totally empty just 4 days ago is now filled with every comfort we could ask for, all donated by friends. Now returned to Austin, Baze continues to be there every day, every moment. He steps up when our brains betray us (which is often, these days) and helps us navigate the necessary steps and he steps back when others want to help. He is our lifeline.

In light of a tragedy, we are blessed beyond measure. And that dichotomy takes some time to process.