I was watching Grey's Anatomy last night, and Izzie finds out that she has a disease with a 5% rate of survival. Anyone hearing these odds would probably assume that they wouldn't fall in the 5% but rather the 95%. Little Grey comments that her mother came into the hospital with hiccups where the survival rate is 100% and dies. I doubt there are many people who get the hiccups and think they will find themselves on the losing side of .0001% odds. But really, we never know which side we are going to find ourselves on. While Dan and I had discussed what we would grab in the event of a fire, I never imagined that I would be on this side of that fire.
I've been known to be scared. In high school I slept with the light on worried that someone would find their way into my home. I hate flying. I have always rationalized that the chance of something happening to that plane is so minimal. But the reality is that it does happen to someone. Does that mean I shouldn't fly? The fire has definitely brought back the anxiety that I had worked so hard to resolve. I told my counselor that I understood how people became agorophobic (afraid to leave their home). But even that doesn't keep us safe. My home, my sanctuary, burned down.
As difficult as this has been, today is the only moment I have, and I am trying to remember to make the most of it. Waiting until tomorrow makes little sense when we don't know what tomorrow might hold. And having expectations for that tomorrow only makes us prone to exteme disappointment when something like a fire changes all that we had planned. Who knows... I might get the hiccups.