There was a candle near the window in the upstairs bedroom, a slight breeze pushed the curtain too close to the flame and suddenly the room was full of fire. Sweet Sarah lay sleeping in a nearby bedroom blissfully unaware of the fierce heat that sucked the life from her tiny body. Her frantic mother clawed her way up the stairs but was pushed back by the smoke, her hands and face burned. Soon, yet not soon enough, the firemen came but Sarah was gone, an angel complete. Wings unfurled she flew away from us that night.
I like to think her death perhaps saved other babes. The town passed a law making smoke detectors mandatory in all rental property in the town. I like to think there was a reason for her loss, but it's still hard to imagine the why.
Sarah would have celebrated her 26th birthday this year. Sarah is my granddaughter.
I tried not to write this. I mean, really, who wants to relive such a tragedy. But the words came out of me and the harder I tried not to write them down, the stronger they screamed, and so I gave up and decided there might be some therapeutic value in telling the story. And now I'm done.