My daughter and grandson had to evacuate during the L.A. fires – we are all one when it comes to worrying about fire risk

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Twelve days ago the fires started.

Watching the news coverage was so visceral that when I stepped into my yard, I expected smoke to choke me. But it was clear. Retreating inside, I went back to the television to watch what was happening in Los Angeles and to stare at the destruction. The hellscape. 

My daughter, Kira, and grandson, Dodger, live in L.A. Kira FaceTimed me to show me their neighborhood. It is difficult to grasp. The smoke so thick. The sky a burnt orange. Her boyfriend, who lives in Altadena, evacuated to her house. His house is still standing, as far as he knows. But he doesn’t know if he can ever live in it again, due to smoke damage and because so much of the neighborhood is gone. He hasn’t been allowed back yet. 

Kira lives in Glendale, in a small two-bedroom bungalow about 10 miles from Altadena. She thought they were safe from the fire, but they also received a warning to evacuate. They decided to head two hours south to Dana Point and a hotel room. She loaded the car with important documents and prescription meds and even some of her father’s ashes. I know there is irony there, but it was all too upsetting to make a joke. 

And I am here, utterly helpless. 

On Monday, the day before the fire began, Kira, an actor, texted me that she had had a strong audition and most likely had booked her first job of the new year. After the year we have had, the death of her father, my husband of 40 years, in February, she needed that. We needed that.

“2025 is going to be better Mama,” she texted me. 

And here we are.

The fire has again made me wonder if I do need to move closer to her. To my grandson. They are my entire family. Oh, I have my husband Michael’s family, too, and they are wonderful, but also far away. But blood relatives, I only have Dodger and Kira. If something were to happen to them, well I can’t even think of that. I can’t. The void that would create would be impossible to live with.

I have always been OK with Kira’s choices about where to live. At 16, she went to New York City for three months to study at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. There was no housing so I went with her. We sublet an apartment, but she took off early every morning on her own and learned to navigate the city. When she was 19, she moved back by herself. She did great. I did not worry. She had street skills and, because I know the city so well, I was fine with it all. Maybe even jealous. 

One afternoon, she called to run something by me. There was a good part on offer in London and she wanted to go audition. “Go for it,” I said. She had never been there, but got on a flight, found a place to stay, found the theater and booked the job. She then moved to London for the entire run of the play. I did not worry. I was thrilled for her.

Next she went to Scotland for another gig. Far from home and yet I knew she would be fine. She is tough. She speaks her mind. Loudly. 

This is different. The entire city of Los Angeles is a disaster zone. I can’t get to her. I am relying on quick phone calls and text messages but I can’t do anything. It’s a parent’s nightmare. 

I am sure there are many residents of Santa Cruz County who also have friends or family at the southern end of the state. And I am sure they feel much the same as I do. At some point, requests for financial aid will start appearing. But for now, in the middle of this firestorm, there is nothing to do but sit by the television and on our phones watching it. The horror. The devastation. The human stories are only just emerging. 

I want to be there. To help my small family. I feel a world away. 

Even now, the fires are still burning. Almost two weeks later. Luckily, after two days in the hotel,  Kira and Dodger returned home. Dodger’s school has reopened. But the fires are not gone – and the ash continues, thick and coating everything. Kira and her friends are helping each other as well as helping volunteers who are gathering and distributing goods to those who lost homes. She tells me how generous residents of this widespread community have been. Restaurants offering free meals, small, independent clothing stores posting signs inviting folks to just come in and get what they need. 

Yes, there are tales of looting and price gouging, but they don’t compare to the number of good people doing kind things. 

We are hundreds of miles from Los Angeles, but our neighbors to the south are part of the California Family. What is happening there has an impact on what is happening here. We remember our own fires of 2020. And we worry.

Today and tomorrow and for days to come, there will be stories coming out of L.A. that will break hearts. There will be losses we can’t imagine. But the good stories will be there, too. Stories of bravery and selfless everyday folks helping navigate this disaster. 

We have passed the tipping point of preparing for climate change. I think we have missed the opportunity to fix all that is wrong. And with the new administration coming in rolling back environmental regulations I, for the first time, feel we have lost not just the battle, but possibly the war.