April 12, fifteen years ago, my parents died in a house fire.

It truly seems like only yesterday. I was in Montgomery with some of my high school students attending a conference.

When I woke the next morning, I checked my phone that resembled a small gray army tank, and saw that I had missed a call sometime in the middle of the night. I knew it couldn’t be good. I returned the call to my husband. He said, “Marie, it’s bad.”  I remember saying, “Just tell me.” 

“Your parents’ house caught on fire last night, and they didn’t make it out.”

I think I went into shock. I don’t know how else to describe it. I wandered down the hall, knocked on a co-worker’s door, and told them my parents had just died. My husband came and got me a couple of hours later, and we drove to my former home in Bibb County.

The next few days are a blur. I remember going to their home. Now nothing but a smoldering pile of ashes. I had remembered seeing scenes like this on the news. Stories where everything was destroyed in a fire, a tornado, a hurricane, etc. … but nothing ever prepares you for something like this. Poking around in the hot ashes looking for anything that might have been left — a few shards of pottery and not much else.

Then came funeral plans. My two brothers and I did the best we could to come up with something that would honor them. One coffin was draped with an American flag honoring my dad’s service in the Army during World War II. My mother’s coffin had beautiful flowers on top that I know would have made her happy.

Maybe one of the hardest moments was when you begin driving to the graveside service knowing that your mother and father are in coffins in a hearse just ahead of us; an unforgettable and unbearable site.

The country preacher did his best to say a few words to honor them. Very disappointing was the fact that this preacher brutalized our last name, Galemore, and the town we were from, Daphne. Not a big thing, but adding insult to an already unimaginable injury. It wouldn’t have been difficult to check on that.

There was a huge outpouring of sympathy from the people of the community.  It was very heartwarming to see how much the local people loved them. My mother had been an elementary school teacher and my daddy, a welder on the railroad. Nothing fancy, but honest and honorable. It’s wonderful to think of the hundreds of people who came to the wake and funeral. It was good to see friends and family I had not seen in years. Getting together when people die is not the best way to have a family reunion.

Please be mindful and choose your words carefully when attempting to pay your respects. Phrases like “You know they are in a better place,” only hurt more when you just want them back. One man introduced himself and told me “I had forgotten that they had a daughter.” How do you even begin to answer that?

I also found it disturbing when people were laughing and seemingly having a great time at the meal following the service. My heart was still breaking. How could anyone possibly find anything to laugh about? I know they were just celebrating their lives but I couldn’t possibly join in.

My parents were not perfect, but I loved them with all my heart. They did the very best they could to raise two boys and one “late in life” daughter. And I am very grateful to them for bringing us into the world. What a blessing it is to look back and see all the family that has come after them.  I know they are at peace in heaven. I look forward to seeing them again someday.

Blessings,

Marie