Marian
I have had a blank screen open for far too long. There are some things that are better expressed in person, but perhaps I am a coward. As you say about your father, a lot of it is still very fresh, and the circumstances were... I am reluctant to say 'traumatising', but I am not sure how else to describe it.
The fire that took my sight and my left hand from me also claimed my wife. Truthfully, I had already lost her fifteen years ago to an illness that robbed her of any sense or reason. By the end, there were brief moments of clarity, but for the most part she did not know me and every meeting distressed her more than the last. I dismissed the advice of every visiting physician and refused to allow her to be removed to an asylum. I had visited some and they are terrible institutions, unfit to care for dog never mind a human being. Instead, I kept her securely locked away at home and always watched over by a hired nurse and visiting doctor. It was a closely guarded secret, the people of my time did not take kindly to the insane, and I admit there was an element of shame and embarrassment on my part. I did not wish to hear the villagers whispering about it when I walked past.
The night of the fire, as far as I understand how it all occurred now, her nurse had been drinking and so had not secured the door correctly before falling asleep. Bertha (for that was her name, I did not say so yet) came into possession of the flammable spirit and used it to douse the hangings in various rooms before taking a candle to them. (She had set fires in the past, but never had such kindling to cause any real damage before it could be dealt with).
Well, happily I was able to wake everyone and see them safely out of the building before I went back to try to get Bertha to come out with me, but she was beyond all reason. I do not know that she could ever hear me calling her, or knew that it was her own name anymore. I followed her to the highest point where she threw herself onto the stones below. Dead instantly.
The rest, as I fought to escape the building myself, I am afraid you are already familiar with.
And yet, there remains another element to this sorry tale, but I feel it will wait for another day, if you do not mind. Know that you are only the second person I have ever spoken any of this to, other than the medical staff. It is distressing story to repeat, I admit. I know that it is very heavy, and I am sorry for burdening you with it. But suffice to say, I have seen the error of guarding the secret too closely.