One of my most horrifying memories was when I opened the door of my 1 1/2 year old son’s bedroom after hearing the smoke alarm and saw a room full of smoke. In the thick haze, I could barely see my whimpering son, Liam, standing in his crib a couple feet from the flames on the other side of the room from where I was standing.
An oscillating floor fan caught fire and the blaze was 2–3 feet wide, 3–4 foot high, and growing fast. I yelled, “House on fire – get everybody out!” …and ran into the room feeling my way to grab my little boy. I often think of how precious the seconds were that kept him safe that night. I don’t even like to think about what would have happened if I had been even one minute later.
The room was damaged as you can imagine, but no big deal there. He was safe.
He clung to me for three days after that and then he started to relax and trust his surroundings again.
Some people might say I was unwise to run in, but I had no choice. Instinct took over and I’d do it the same way again. I had to get him out of there.
Today, he’s a happy healthy beautiful nine-year-old boy. He’s here and he’s ok.