Surviving the Loss of Everything

Facing an uncertain future in the wake of the Eaton Fire in Altadena, California

I expected 2025 to be a challenging year, but I never imagined that we would begin with the loss of everything.

We, along with tens of thousands of Southern Californians, have been displaced and made homeless by one of four different wildfires. The Eaton fire wreaked havoc on our town of Altadena, a small community located north of Pasadena. A week ago, the community celebrated the year with a colorful parade and athletic competition. This week, the air was dense with smoke and embers, transforming the sun into a glowing, angry ball.

Fifty to seventy-mile-an-hour winds breathed life into a seasonal wildfire, creating an insatiable beast. The fire’s only intent was to consume and destroy, and that’s what it did. Block after block, mile after mile, the fires destroyed homes and businesses, throwing tens of thousands of people into a cloud of uncertainty and fear.

When I saw the flames glowing high in the Angeles Forest hills, it was a familiar scene. I had witnessed this twice in my life in the community. On those occasions, there was risk, but we felt confident things would be controlled. As in the past, the flames would not travel so far down the mountain. It had held then. It would again, until it didn’t.

The high-velocity winds that propelled the fire had a physical voice—an angry and unforgiving one—and it blew glowing embers and smoke in our direction. With no power, no light, and no reliable means of emergency information. We chose to leave.

We used the flashlights from our smartphones to retrieve a few essential items, including medications, electronics, a hard drive, and a large bag of dog food. The cremations of my sister-in-law and three dogs were thrown into a grocery bag. We fumbled around a darkened house, trying to think reasonably while faced with an impossible situation.

As I packed the car, I walked to several neighbor homes. I feared they might have gone to sleep for the night with no knowledge of the coming storm. No one answered their doors. They had already fled.

We eventually found a pet-friendly hotel in the heart of Pasadena. The three of us and our two pets stumbled into a room the size of a New York studio apartment. It was small, but it was comfortable and safe. Though I hadn’t expected to, I managed to sleep for a few hours. A local television news channel provided a horrific background noise to our slumber.

I woke with the hope of returning to the property to recover other items. The morning came with the clarity of having forgotten essential and sentimental items, including passports, photo albums, and a small safe containing my camera gear. There might still be a chance to save them.

However, the further I drove up our street, the more convinced I was otherwise. Structures consumed by fire spit out flames and smoke on either side of me. Familiar stores and homes were unrecognizable.

Only a few blocks from our home, I drove into a wall of thick black smoke. I couldn’t see beyond the hood of the car. I knew my house was only a short distance away, but it didn’t matter. There was nothing to see. I turned around and drove blind until I could again see the road now littered with fallen power lines, trees, and other debris.

Within a few hours, we would receive confirmation that our home was gone. Later, we witnessed the loss with our own eyes. Our house was transformed into a dark, smoldering pile, remnants of a life that we had enjoyed only a few hours before. Little was recognizable, and we struggled to visualize the debris as the spaces and things that had made our house our home.

Our loss was palpable, but it became something altogether different. We were grieving simultaneously with neighbors and friends the destruction of homes, businesses, and an entire community. Something was torn from each of us that went beyond structures and their contents. The fire possessed no intellect, no intentionality, but its impact still felt brutal and vengefully personal.

Three days later, we continue to struggle with the enormity of what has happened to us and thousands of people throughout Los Angeles. The only thing that makes sense is to take the next indicated step, whether that means a call to the insurance adjuster, purchasing clothes, or standing in a long cue looking for help. The routines and mundanity of our lives were violently stripped away, replaced with uncertainty and fear of making a wrong and life-changing decision that makes a bad situation worse.

Despite the grief and loss, I am grateful and hopeful. We share the hotel with hundreds of people and families faced with similar losses. Some, like us, have lost everything. Some people’s homes were spared, but they were forced to delay their return. There is kindness and generosity here, a willingness to express sympathy and empathy with a stranger. Each, in their own way, reaches out to let the other know that despite the severity of the loss, they are not alone. We are not alone. I am not alone.

The countless emails and voice messages serve as a reminder of the life we have managed to create for ourselves. It is a life that is not reliant on anything physical, not a house, a camera, or a precious photo book collection. The success of our lives can be seen in the compassion we receive from friends, families, neighbors, and fans. Their love and eagerness to help us are proof of the kind of life we created for ourselves. The phone calls and messages are confirmation of a life that’s been well-lived.

We are in the early days of this journey, which will have its share of frustrations and challenges. However, I am encouraged that I have all that I need to see it through, including the grace of a compassionate God, loving friends, and family. I remind myself each day that I am more than my circumstances.

I will continue to share our journey on these pages and the podcast, including ways to be of service to us and the thousands of others who are on this long journey with us.

Many have asked us about a GoFundMe effort, which will come soon. In the meantime, you can provide support to me and my family by contributing to Patreon, purchasing an eBook, or donating through Buy Me a Coffee. You can also become a paid subscriber to my Substack account.

There are also a variety of other fundraising efforts that serve the larger community that I encourage you to support.

I am yours in gratitude.

Ibarionex