I used the spatula to move around the veggies in the pan.
They sizzled quietly in the olive oil as I hovered over the skillet. That was the only noise I could hear, other than the voice of my niece on the phone, pensively explaining what she saw in my house.
“Um…I see smoke. It’s like…smoky in here – like something is burning.” I could hear her chuckle and shuffle about.
I understood her syntax well enough, but I don’t think it was computing. There I was, standing in Dallas, Texas, on the heels of the holidays, while there was a question mark on the status of my house in Miami, Florida. Her description continued with rustling noises, followed by doors opening and closing.
My veggies turned translucent and tender in the pan as it really began to sink in. I needed to call the firefighters to ensure whatever is happening to my house doesn’t continue or harm my niece.
That was New Year’s Eve 2025 for my family. A house fire was definitely in the top ten things I did not see coming. Our November and December were full of sweet family time and this tied it into a very weird bow.
Thank God for the best of family and friends to keep us up to date with our house and pets until we could return at the top of January. The whirlwind of beginning the process of things has been a ride, but I did not expect to be so grateful for the gift of community and reality.
I have found that the definition of community is sweeter than I could have ever imagined. When we first arrived back in Miami, the sweetest thing we could have was a hot shower and a home-cooked meal. Without hesitation within the first 24 hours, both things were available for myself and my family. Plotting our next steps was much simpler and girded with love of family who could never ever again be just our friends.
After that hot shower and meal, we got settled into a hotel. Three days later an Airbnb. Two days later, that Airbnb had plumbing challenges, so we went to a hotel an hour from our kids’ school. Then, to another Airbnb. And surprise – we just moved again.
And after this merry go round the city, I have come to realize that home really isn’t a place. I know, it sounds so PBS Kids or like a sitcom family's closing lines to the episode, but it is so true.
When I pick up my kids from school and they ask if we are going to the store or home, they aren’t actually talking about our house. They mean are we going to together.
Are we going to rest? Are we going to be safe? Are we going to be OK today?
And my answer is yes.
Yes, to the rhythms we have that only really need us committed to each other – not primarily a place. Yes to us. Yes to love. Yes to family.
We aren’t back in our house yet, but we are home.
Don’t forget what home is for you and yours. If life happens, it’s what and who stands strong and with you through it.
And it’s beautiful.
Diamone Ukegbu is a local Little Haiti artist, creative, teacher, mom and wife who is in the throes of raising three children while trying to keep her sanity.
