My grandmother's house burned down, and she moved in with us. At 23, I had to share a bed with my mom.
There needs to be complete darkness with no noise. Even the dim light of the television and the quiet laughter from the iconic television series "Friends" will turn the wheels in my brain, keeping me awake for hours.
I was that kid at sleepovers who would call my mom in the middle of the night with a fake stomach ache, but not because I wasn't having fun or actually felt ill; I just wanted to sleep in my own bed.
At 23 years old, living in my childhood home, I found comfort coming home to my room after a long day. Little did I know, after sleeping in the same room almost every night of my life, besides college and the few sleepovers I actually made it through, that I would be sleeping next to my mom for four months because of a tragic fire.
My grandmother's house burned down
The heavy rainfall sparked a flame under the electricity panel and shot up three stories through my grandmother's home of 61 years. Luckily, my 85-year-old grandmother — who we call Mammy — goes to bed later than her teenage grandchildren and had just finished watching the last episode of "Family Feud" at 2 AM. As she closed her eyes, she smelled smoke and called for help.
While I sped across town to get my dad from work, my mom and sister watched a policeman evacuate her from the house in her nightgown and slippers.
Tears and rain soaked our clothes as we watched a billowing fire rip through a house that had been in the family for generations. When the rain finally stopped, the house was unrecognizable.
You could see the charred bed frame in the bedroom my grandparents shared years ago, with only rubble surrounding it. What wasn't ablaze was ruined by water damage seeping through the ceilings. Luckily, a few possessions remained intact, covered in black ash.
A house filled with memories of blowing out birthday candles, passing the carved turkey, and making homemade banana pancakes on Sunday mornings was gone. My Mammy no longer had a home.
She moved in with us
Without hesitation or a timeline, my family took my Mammy in.
Our house is comfortable for four people, but five is quite tight. We have three bedrooms and one and a half bathrooms. My father set up a twin bed in our unfinished basement, saying it was his new apartment. My sister's bed was too high for my Mammy to climb into, but my full-sized bed was the perfect height.
So, I took up living quarters with my mom and let my Mammy sleep in my room — Harry Styles posters lining the wall and all.
If you had told me that I'd be sleeping next to my mother at the age of 23, I would have laughed.
She likes the television on; I do not. She keeps the door open a crack, exposing the slightest hint of light; I do not. It was often a battle for the remote, the covers, or the right side of the bed.
I felt like a kid having a nightmare, going into their mom's room to sleep with her. And at the time, I did think this new reality was a nightmare. Now, it has become my biggest lesson.
I got to spend time with her
Every day, my parents remained as calm as one can be in such a situation. They navigated how to break the news to my confused Mammy that her house and many beloved possessions were gone. My parents served as an example of the daughter I strive to be as they get older.
The pieces of our new life fell into place like the puzzles my family and I completed daily with my Mammy. We searched for words in crossword puzzles and watched hopeful contestants say "Deal or No Deal." My sister blew my Mammy's mind when she showed her that a burger and fries from McDonald's could arrive on our doorstep within minutes. Tucking her into my bed with a goodnight kiss is one of many moments I'll carry with me when the house fire fades as a distant flicker in my memory.
Mammy now lives in an apartment across town, waiting for her house to be rebuilt. This has its own challenges, as she can't walk down the basement stairs to do laundry, and she didn't know how to use the new microwave for a while. However, despite the small bumps, we ensure her new environment feels just as her home once did.
Over the four months, we laughed, joked, fought, and cried. When everything in the life of someone you love crumbles to ash, sharing a bed with your mom suddenly doesn't matter.
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