It was a windy March day, the kind that seems to create a vortex and blows leaves around in little whirlwinds. I had just gone upstairs to our second story apartment in an older home, with an attached barn. I brought with me our 4-month-old daughter Shara and 2-year-old Angel, a little autistic girl for whom I provided one-on-one developmental services. My 3-year-old son Andy was playing outside with his trucks and some sand out of the bucket on the porch, where the door was to go up to the apartment.
A short time later, perhaps only 10 minutes or so, Andy came bursting through the door into the apartment, yelling about a fire. I had no idea what he was talking about…until I looked out the livingroom windows and to my horror, a towering wall of flames greeted me menacingly, as they raced across the porch roof.