"Nearly nine years have passed since the tragic Ghost Ship fire. Thirty-six colorful friends - including my daughter - having a good time were caught off-guard. Unknown to them, a fire broke out on the first floor of the Oakland event space where they were holding a party. The music was blasting at full volume as they danced on the second floor unaware of the danger below."
"That vision is never far from my mind. I was cleaning out my garage again, a never-ending chore that usually involves a reorganization of my priorities. While pulling some of Chelsea's papers off a high shelf, a flurry of glitter flew into the air and covered me in a glimmering rainbow. If you know glitter, you know I'd be digging the stuff out of my hair, skin and clothes for weeks. Just the same, it made me smile."
"I didn't think of the fire and unanswered screams for help; I thought of the glitter and confetti that showered down on the crowd during one of Chelsea and Travis Hough's EasyStreet shows in 2013, three years prior. The night was electric. The Bottom of the Hill Club in San Francisco was covered in shimmering color; and Chelsea and Travis were warned that if they didn't clean up the mess themselves, they would never be invited back to perform."
Nearly nine years have passed since the Ghost Ship fire that killed thirty-six people, including the narrator's daughter. A chance spill of glitter while cleaning a garage triggers vivid, joyful memories of a middle-school art project and a glitter-filled concert where friends happily cleaned up together. The glitter moment shifts attention away from traumatic visions and unanswered screams toward warmth, communal celebration, and laughter. Keeping the daughter's clothes and mementos in the garage provides tangible comfort. Memories of shared festivities become a small memorial that turns thoughts from darkness toward light and gratitude.
Read at The Mercury News
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