Briles Family

As she looked through the smoke and smoldering ashes of what remained of her home, the life and heart of a fifteen year old girl would forever be changed. In that moment her existence was defined by the things she could not nor would ever touch again. What her world looked like before; her bedroom filled with her belongings from childhood now seemed so distant. Her beloved Little House on The Prairie books, her new Dr Marten boots, the bed her mother bought her when she was nine, the journal she kept, the special porcelain doll her aunt had given her after years of begging, and the clothes she wore to school everyday were no more. The bitter November night was a reminder of the cruel and harsh ending to a chapter in the young girl’s life and the beginning of another. The things she had loved and clung to were now gone; she knew now that those “things” would not fill her nor no longer define her. Some of the things lost didn’t represent anything more than a glimpse into life as a fifteen year old girl; but they still meant something at least to her.

In in an instant everything tangible she had once held dearly was gone beneath the soot and ashes. Gone was the old green iron bed her mother surprised her with when she was nine years old that she thought she would never sleep in again. It was that bed, that her mom eventually repainted mauve and refinished her entire bedroom, with new curtains and walls painted fresh and surprised her after school one day. It was this bed that she and her middle school girlfriends would pile into and exchange secrets and crushes. It was this bed that so often her brother would fall asleep next to her as a child; it was this bed where giggles abounded and rest was given. It was this bed that dreams were dreamt and tears were shed.

Years passed and she thought little about that old iron bed except in passing. Until one day something sparked her memory to ask her mom about the bed. Much to her surprise and unbenongst to her for years, her bed had been salvaged and stored in her grandmother’s barn. It was only after she had married and began dreaming of having her own family, did she drive out to that old barn and bring to her home the bed she thought was lost. With nothing else from her past and her own history to touch, her bed was something that had survived; it was hers. Hollowed out by ashes and fragranced by smoke, her husband began the mission of restoring the bed. This treasure, this piece of furniture would now remain in her home, and someday she dreamed that perhaps her own children with lay in her bed and fill the air with giggles, whispers, pillow fights and dream their own dreams. It is this bed that is so much more than just a possession. It is her history; it is a reminder of where she came from and who she is. It is now a reflection of that painful night in November and the joy filled blessings that abound from the ashes.