Lynn Godfrey
Creekside,  St. George, UT

Written by Lynne Godfrey

We were looking at my home from the poolside and it looked okay.  Divine intervention, I swear, said to me, "You need to walk into your house and stand in your backyard."  So I did.  When I stood in my backyard, I realized I had about 30 or 0 minutes before my home was going to go.  The wonderful people who happened to be in the neighborhood came and started removing my personal belongings.

I think they were asking me to prioritize. "What do you want?'  when you are going through something like this, you are not quite sure how to prioritize.  You start to think, "What truly is important here?  Are these pink shoes really important?  Do I leave them and think about something else?'  It finally came down to where I just had to say, "Whatever you see, just take it.  I don't care.  I can't think about it right now.  Honestly, nothing is important to me except my son."  I knew that he would be safe.  My son, 13, was funny!  When they said you need to prioritize, he ran into the house, grabbed his skateboard, ran back out and said, "Okay, mom.  I'm good!"

I was in shock.  I didn't really shed any tears.  I kind of felt guilty because I though I should be bawling my eyes out.  But I just fest so supported by all those wonderful people.  I think that without them I probably would have crumbled.

I built the home.  I paid for the home.  My home was my retirement.  I am 48 and a little concerned about starting all over again with a mortgage because I had put myself in a position where I was set, for the most part, and teachers don't make a great amount of money.  I am a bit worried about making a mortgage payment.

It was very strange watching my home crumble.  The sound, the smell, standing there hearing the beams crack, the tiles on the roof banging into each other, seeing it fall, and a great puff of smoke.  Insulation was flying in the air.  We were afraid that if my house went , my friend, Laura's, house would be next.  We have been neighbors for 16 years.  I looked at her and said, "You know, Laura, we are not going to be neighbors anymore."  I think that is when I cried.

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