Smoke Gets in My Eyes

When Christie and Heather were very young, we had a neighbor who became our "Stockton Grandma." Sister Holsworth lived a couple of houses down the street. She had a cat named "Baby Girl" and a dog whose name I don't remember. We didn't have pets yet and Christie absolutely loved visiting Sister Holsworth's home and playing with her pets. There were a couple of mornings when the doorbell would ring--very early in the morning I might add--and there was Sister Holworth standing on the doorstep with Christie beside her. Sometimes Christie would still be wearing her nightgown, her bare little feet curled from touching the cold concrete. She had slipped out of the house to visit her special friends. I would thank Sister Holsworth for bringing her back home and try to help Christie understand that we didn't visit people before breakfast. I'm sure Sister Holsworth wondered what kind of parent I was at times.

We had Sister Holsworth over for dinner occasionally. We sat near her at church. At least twice we had her over for our Christmas Eve festivities--a special dinner and acting out the nativity. We were not only neighbors, but became good friends.

When Heather was about a year old and Christie was about five, Sister Holsworth asked me to drive her to the Sacramento airport. She said we could take her car. I'm sure she suspected that we didn't have a lot of money to pay for an extra tank of gas. I was a little nervous about driving to Sacramento with two little girls--the trip up wouldn't be so bad but returning home without an extra adult was going to be a little trickier. Yet, Sister Holsworth was my friend and I was happy to help out.

The appointed day came. Her car was unusual. It looked like a car but it had only one long bench seat with a covered cab in back. It was a mixture of a car and a truck. There were only three seat belts in the car and four passengers. This was before the very strict seat belt laws so I sat in the driver's seat, Heather was strapped into her car seat which was in the middle, and Sister Holsworth held Christie on her lap.

Soon after I entered Highway 5 I noticed the car seemed sluggish. I pushed down on the accelerator. Nothing happened. In fact, we started going even slower.

"Something's wrong, " I said. "We are losing power." I carefully pulled over to the shoulder of the road. As soon as I stopped, thick, dark smoke filled the cab. I literally could not see the other passengers in the car! Flames were shooting out of the hood. The car was on fire!

Sister Holsworth opened her door and pushed Christie off her lap. She fell in a heap on the ground and began crying. Meanwhile, I was trying to unbuckle Heather from her car seat. I was struggling to undo the latch as we were breathing in smoke. Sister Holsworth was finally able to free Heather and I grabbed her and exited the other door. Before our eyes her car was in flames. A truck driver going the opposite direction on Highway 5 stopped, ran across all the lanes of the freeway with a fire extinguisher in an attempt to put the fire out. It was too late. The car was a total loss.

After the CHP arrived, he placed us safely in his car and then called Ron at work to come and pick us up. Sister Holsworth never did make it to the airport that day. I don't know if she ever found out why her car suddenly caught on fire either. The situation caused a few nightmares, but I was extremely grateful that we were all safe. I was also very grateful that Sister Holsworth--with her arthritic hands was able to get Heather out of her car seat when my own nerves made it practically impossible.

And so in the Spirit of Thanksgiving--thank you, Sister Holsworth. Wherever you are.