Printer Friendly
Use Print Command on your Browser
Monday February 23, 2004 Volume VI Number 8
Allyson at Twenty-One
by Ken Kemp
he impact of the Paradise Fire on our little town remains. Now, nearly four months after the blaze, we are all a little closer to each other. In one way or another, our priorities got rearranged. We are less certain about the importance of physical things. We are more certain about the meaning of family, friendships, inter-dependence and community. We know a bit more about generosity and caring. A bit less about pretense.
The person who has emerged as a symbol of our Paradise Fire’s awful effect is twenty-one year old Allyson Roach.
When the fire raged up the canyon from Rincon towards Lake Wohlford Road, the family was told they had twenty minutes to evacuate their four thousand square foot home. It was a dream property, out on the edge of the ridge. The steep canyon dropped off just past the corral where the horses were kept. The girls and their brother (Allyson, Ashleigh and Jason) grew up riding - endless trails on table top ledges down to the rocky creek bed, through the oaks, up the other side through sage and manzanita to more wide vistas and crisp mornings and dramatic sunsets. They learned the meaning of chores, and knew they were living a fantasy childhood; so the whining and complaining stayed in check, the pay-off for their work – enormous. They gardened and hiked, and endured their dad’s sentimentalism and their mom’s prodding. John Roach, a proud Irishman, was most at home when on St. Patrick’s Day he donned the green and sometimes searched through clover looking for the one with four leaves. He also loved the Scotts, the sound of bagpipes and watching his girls dance. The kids understood it – Celtic pride.
Mom is a registered nurse. She kept things in order. She taught her children the value of homework and reading and caring. And gratitude. She encouraged the girls to stop by the fire station down the road with a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies and get to know the neighborhood fire fighters. They thought of the two as little sisters.
It was a beautiful October Sunday morning. The sky is always crystal clear when the Santa Ana’s blow in from the east. The sunrise a bright yellow and orange over the mountain above the canyon. It was that hot desert wind. But this time, the scent of smoke tinged the morning air. Early, before daybreak, the television reported an outbreak of wild fire in several southern California locations. There was a buzz at the fire station just up the road. It wasn’t until eight-thirty on that Sunday morning, but an official warning was finally delivered to the Roach ranch. “You’ve got twenty minutes to get out,” they were told.
At first, a kind of denial. It can’t be happening. But it was. The flames climbed rapidly up the canyon walls, devouring the dry brush like tinder. The winds picked up, heavy, billowing smoke.
Details of the events that followed have emerged with greater clarity now nearly four months later.
The whole family and a friend had cars on the driveway in front of the garage. The narrow exit was blocked, as everyone scrambled to find keys. There was no time to pack… only time to flee. The twenty minutes evaporated. The horses would have to fend for themselves.
At the bottom of the driveway, mom and dad went ahead, first up the hill. Jason jumped into the driver’s seat of the two-door Mustang. In the confusion, Allyson switched cars. Ashleigh, in the passenger seat next to her brother shouted to her sister – “Come with us!” and jumped into the back as Allyson jumped into the front, slamming the door. Jason hit the accelerator and the car jolted up the hill, through the gate and out on to Station Road.
What could not have been anticipated - happened.
The fire, moving down from the north, had already raced up the ravine a quarter mile over the ridge from the Roach ranch, through several adjacent properties, igniting pepper trees and the waxy manzanitas and live oaks in its path like an unmanned colossal blow torch. The three Roach children made their escape from the threatening smoke and flames chasing them from behind up the hill, but they didn’t know the fire had already progressed to the road ahead coming from the right just beyond the rise, belching fire across the asphalt roadway, which they could not see for the thick and blinding smoke.
In an incomprehensible sequence of tragic circumstance, mom and dad made it through a blaze that their children would not. Jason, intent on piloting the Mustang through the smoke to safety, never saw the vehicle racing toward him from his left. The two cars collided just where a side road merged. The impact of the crash knocked Jason off course and into a tree trunk, hitting it hard enough to trigger both front airbags.
Jason, shaken but alert, opened the door on the driver’s side into the searing heat. He barely got out of the car. But Allyson’s door opened directly into the flame. Instantly, she caught fire. When the two doors opened, the flame, hungry for oxygen, filled the interior of the car in a flash, and Ashleigh had no where to go.
In a moment of unimaginable horror, Jason looked back to see the car explode in the flames. His sister Allyson staggered in shock. The flames finally extinguished, she was taken immediately to emergency, with eighty-five percent of her beautiful young body severely burned. She was not expected to survive. In a deep coma, Allyson did not yet know her sister Ashleigh’s fate.
She would not know, until two months later.
* * * * * * *
Whatever anonymity the Roach family enjoyed before the Paradise Fire from their hide-away ranch out there on the ridge is pretty well gone by now. Twelve hundred people packed the sanctuary of the largest church in the county in a heart-breaking but hopeful memorial to Ashleigh. Prayer vigils and an outpouring of love and care have surrounded young Allyson as she battled infection and a series of nasty surgeries and massive grafting. Her parent’s faith gave testimony to the power of knowing God and the sustaining grace that can keep body, soul and spirit whole even in the crucible of unthinkable loss.
The stories in print went well beyond the local papers. The Roach family story has captured the front page of major newspapers and articles in newsmagazines more than once, as John and Lori generously share the particulars of their journey. They’ve been interviewed by Diane Sawyers and Katie Couric, and those conversations have eclipsed the myriad of local outlets who have kept the entire county informed on Allyson’s progress. Now the nation knows of Ashleigh and Allyson Roach and the terrible consequence of the curiously named Paradise Fire.
For the first six or eight weeks, Allyson was heavily medicated, and no one quite knew what she heard of conversations and chattering around her bed. Lori, the RN, assumed that her little girl heard everything; so she was a protective mother, knowing her daughter needed every resource to fight the good fight, and survive. As much as she could, she monitored the things that were said and discussed in Allyson’s room. She would read to her. Scriptures. Novels. Poetry. Always positive and winsome. They would sing. And laugh. And reminisce. Musicians would stop by and fill the room with charming melodies. An occasional bagpipe brought that winsome blend of melancholy and cheer.
But the day came when Lori knew she would comprehend. Allyson must know the truth: Ashleigh is gone. At least for now. And while her face can no longer communicate the subtle and delicate expression it once did, her eyes welled up with tears as her mother told her, and then held her gently in her arms and together they mourned the loss of the youngest of the three, sweet Ashleigh, whom they loved so dearly.
Then dad held them both.
And they wept. Deep, long, quiet sobs. In a song of grief.
And hope.
And love.
* * * * * *
The Roach family – John, Lori and young Jason – came by our church one Sunday morning a few weeks ago. They brought us a greeting and a thank you to Pastor Bill and the many people who came by to help with clean up, erosion control, the repaving of the road where Ashleigh died, and gratitude for the words of encouragement and expressions of kindness. It was an emotion-packed morning as they told us of their daughter’s courage and determination and the heartbreaking story of Allyson coming back to consciousness – and the knowledge of her sister’s terrible passing.
As they stood before the congregation, they were speaking to their neighbors. These are people who also felt the heat of the blaze. People who live in the aftermath of the fire’s destructive power. People who choked on the smoke, and breathed in the ash and looked into each other’s eyes in stunned amazement at the profound impact of one October night when the desert wind brought awful ruin – hungry flames, randomness, and destruction.
And left us with each other.
While we would never wish such a calamity on anyone, we will never again be the people we were before the firestorm swept through our quiet little world. We may wish to have what we lost returned again – and we know it will never be. But we are better people now.
Allyson and Ashleigh, without intending or knowing, each in her own profound way, gave us this gift.
I cornered Jason afterwards that Sunday morning and we talked for awhile. It was my first conversation with the young man who drove the car up the hill away from the fire and into the tree. My heart broke at the mere thought of what he saw that awful Sunday morning. And yet, I was filled at the same time with quiet admiration at his strength. He is tall, confident, poised - so full of promise.
I asked him about his plans.
“I’m in school,” he said.
“What are you studying?”
“Well,” he paused, “before all this happened, I didn’t really have any idea about what I wanted to do with my life. But now I know.” He gave me one of those genuine looks, eye to eye, man to man, and for a moment I saw his father’s eyes, felt his mother’s heart and caught a glimpse of his sister’s dreams.
I sensed something of the determination that brought the Roach family to this place - unwavering confidence that can only come from some mysterious source that is well beyond one’s self. A hint of a smile that underscores the belief. It’s not swagger. It’s gravitas. It’s the same resolve that caused his parents to say – we’re going to rebuild. This is our home. We are staying right here.
“Yep - I know now,” he repeated, thoughtfully – almost as though he was reminding himself.
“What is it?” He had my keen interest.
“I want to be a fire-fighter,” he said. Matter of fact. With a confirming nod. “I’m studying fire science.”
“Wow.” It was about all I could think to say. “That is so good, Jason.”
And we went fist to fist - my way of affirming what I just heard.
* * * * * *
It’s Monday morning. You are a leader.
And you know that some of your best decisions, your deepest commitments, those life changing moments in your life – well, they were born out of pain.
People will ask John and Lori – “How do you do it?” They may attempt an answer, but it’s an unfair question. They don’t know. They’re not sure they are doing it. “Do what?” they will ask themselves. It’s not over yet. If they could, just like you, they would turn back the clock. They would re-do their escape that fateful Sunday morning. They would have Ashleigh back. They would have prevented Allyson’s terrible burns.
But they can’t.
Like so many of us, they are simply learning to accept what they can not change.
And they do it with such grace - a grace that has the unmistakable mark of the divine.
Amazing grace.
The sound of it is so sweet - you can hear it, too.
Accept it for what it is.
God’s incredible gift.
Posted in Valley Center, California
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2004
Send FEEDBACK
Click here to SUBSCRIBE
To UNSUBSCRIBE, click the link at the bottom of your e-mail alert.