It’s just shy of a mile and a small hill from my parents’ driveway to their closest neighbors’ driveway in rural North Dakota. Close enough to hear each other hollering at the kids or the cattle, but far enough to have privacy. When I say rural, I really mean “the middle of nowhere right at the county line with a volunteer fire department” rural.
On a pretty Saturday morning in July, my mom happened to be outside mowing the yard when she noticed thick black smoke coming from just over the hill. She shut down the mower and got in her vehicle to investigate, as any rural neighbor does. Upon cresting the hill, she saw the neighbors’ whole house in flames and promptly dialed 911. Just a few short minutes later, two other neighbors that had also seen the smoke showed up to see if they could help, not knowing the tragedy that had already occurred. It took the fire department a full 25 minutes to arrive.
The two gentlemen and life-long neighbors that had also showed up around the time my mom had, were able to drag the neighbors’ fiancé out of the flame engulfed garden area. She had suffered 3rd degree burns on 70% of her body. Unfortunately, the man she was engaged to, someone I’ve known my whole life, my neighbor and friend, Deane, did not escape the fire. Thankfully, their children were not at home at the time of the fire.
Being so far away from home, in Kansas, I was in shock, denial, and disbelief. I stayed in shock until I made the long drive home a month later for the funeral. My sixteen-year-old son was able to accompany me and do most of the driving on our 14-hour trek across the country.
Popping over the hill from Mom’s on the way to the funeral, I was not expecting the grief to hit me so hard. Logically, I knew what had happened. Mom had sent me pictures of the house in flames. I knew Deane was gone and his fiancé was still in the burn unit in Denver. Somehow, sitting atop the hill and not seeing a house there, one that had been there for my whole life, made it all sink in.
Like in most rural communities, our neighbor was more than just a neighbor. He grew up with my dad, albeit a few years younger. Deane was an extra uncle for us kids, his sisters were extra aunts. He was an extra brother and best friend to my parents.
More people than I had expected showed up to celebrate his life. Most were still in shock, a month later, and grieving heavily. Family and friends shared stories of the kind of person he was. It was his stepson’s speech that completely did me in. He talked about how Deane accepted him, taught him how to fix things and make the right decisions, and most of all, loved him. He spoke of what an honor and privilege it was to him to continue Deane’s legacy of helping to raise Deane’s 14-year-old son.
I will miss him. He had been such a huge help to my mom since my dad passed away in 2016. He was always there when I came home to share a laugh, a smile, and catch up. He had some colorful language, so I can honestly say that he taught me most of the cuss words I know.
My biggest takeaway from his funeral though, came from one of his cousins and one of his sisters: Don’t miss the opportunities to spend time with your loved ones and your families. Go to family reunions; go home for the holidays; apologize when you need to, even if you must write a letter to do it. In rural communities, everyone is considered family, and that sense of community will always stay with me. I hadn’t been home in quite some time and the sense of “coming home” and feeling at peace because you’re automatically accepted back is the most amazing thing. It’s the family that you choose, the small churches and towns that make it all worth it; the kind of people that would give you the shirt off their back. Cherish your community and your family. You never know when you will have to lean on each other.
