I know thousands of people have a 9/11 story. My story doesn’t begin on September 11, 2001, but on September 11, 2009. At 12:30 a.m., I heard my husband run to the garage door from the house, and when he opened it he yelled a fearful word—“FIRE!”
We had both been asleep for a couple of hours. Our house had a layout where you walked in on the main floor that had the living room, kitchen, and two bedrooms and then you actually went downstairs for the master bedroom and a fourth bedroom. That level was completely underground.
Jim had fallen asleep upstairs watching TV. He woke up hearing a popping noise that he thought might be an animal in the garage. We live in the country on a 10-acre farm and had problems with raccoons fighting with our farm cats and getting into things. As Jim ran to the garage, I woke up and also heard the loud pops. Jim never imagined that the garage was fully engulfed so he opened the door without thought. A blast of toxic smoke filled his lungs and the house. My car glowed an eerie orange color and flames were everywhere.
I jumped up and our two cats scurried under the bed. As I came up the stairs Jim yelled for me to call 911. We had cell phones, and didn’t have a land line because we just never used it. My cell phone was across the house in the kitchen. Jim grabbed his phone and when he dialed 911 his call went to the state patrol due to our remote location. He repeatedly gave our address and it seemed that the operator could not locate where our house was. Jim started to lead me out the front door but the flames were coming around the front of the garage and blocked that escape. I looked out through the laundry room to a back entrance onto a deck. Flames had already started to engulf the deck. We stood briefly in the entry way of our house and I had no idea what to do.
Jim grabbed my hand and led me to the window furthest from the flames. It was the dining room window which also was one of the smaller windows in the house. Jim raised his arms and smashed the window glass since the window was a crank out and would only open so far. He ripped off the screen and I grabbed a flashlight to clean the rest of the glass from the frame. As I turned to get the flashlight I could hear the fire raging in the rafters above the kitchen and see the smoke rolling across the ceiling. My throat began tighten. Jim’s voice was horse as he told me to go through the window. In the distance I could hear a lone siren coming our way.
Maybe we could just stand at the open window until the fire department could arrive.
Jim told me again to go through the window. I put my foot on an ottoman that sat there so the cats could look out and see our bird feeders. I put my hand on the window sill not realizing the large puncture wound I would receive. “I can’t do this,” I said. The window was about 6 feet above the ground and I had no idea how to make that leap. “You will do this,” Jim yelled and lifted and pushed me through the window. I hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. Jim yelled at me to get out of the way so he could escape. As Jim started out the window he turned to see a vision of his deceased father in the house. His father’s “presence” helped to get Jim through the window and out of the house. Jim guided me to the front of the property toward the road and when I could go no further he went on to alert his brother and sister-in-law, who were in an adjacent house, that we had a fire. They had no idea what was going on.
