Fight on

While unprecedented wildfires rage across Southern California, I’m reminded that loss can feel different for all of us.

My boyfriend, Noah, went to the University of Southern California. Whenever he passes someone wearing USC swag—perhaps a t-shirt, a sweater, a hat—he’ll throw a peace sign up and say “fight on.” Apparently, this is a very common practice amongst USC students and alumni. It’s a kinship. A common language. A simple but effective display of school spirit and community.

Yesterday, we were walking into a grocery store as an older man with a USC sweater is walking out.

Noah says, “fight on.”

The man says, “fight on,” and continues walking.

“Hey,” the man says unexpectedly. We both turn around to face him. “You wanna hear something crazy?”

“I do,” I say.

“Absolutely,” Noah says.

Most of the time when people ask if you wanna hear something crazy, they’re gonna tell you about how backed up the 405 was this morning. Or how’s there’s a buy one get one on Coke Zeros. But this guy walks a few feet back in our direction and says,

“This is the only sweater I own. These are the only clothes I own. My entire house burned to the ground last night. I’m actually on my way to buy new shoes right now.”

I look down at his feet. He’s wearing Adidas sandals with white socks.

I have no memory of what I said at first, but it was something like “holy shit” or “oh my God” or whatever it is you say when you hear something that’s truly crazy.

And that was truly crazy.

But it wasn’t the craziest thing the man ended up saying.

With compassion, Noah looks at the man and responds, softly, “I’m so sorry to hear that, that is crazy. That’s… like, yeah, wow, that’s really upsetting.”

It’s hard to find the right words in a moment of true devastation. I try, saying, “I’m so, so sorry as well. I have no idea what you’re feeling, but I would feel just this… I dunno… overwhelming sense of devastation.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t feel devastation,” the man said. “These past few years have been really tough for me and my wife. There are so many things that have piled up. Things we have to figure out. About our lives. Our kids are moving away, we didn’t expect that. But now, in this way I never expected, so much of the bullshit is gone. I’m alive. My wife is alive. My family is safe. I just turned 65 and I don’t know if I would have felt this way 10, 20 years ago… but I woke up today and for the first time in a very long time, I felt…”

He paused and looked down. He opened his mouth just a bit as he searched for the exact thing he was feeling. He finds it, smirks. Looks back at both of us.

“Freedom.”