Yesterday, my cottage caught on fire.
Apparently something to do with the wood burning stove and perhaps it was over-filled, or something. I really don't know.

My mom called me and told me this morning. A really, really big shock.

My grandfather must have put too much wood in the wood-burning stove, and it got out of control.
My grandmother has parkinsons (among other problems), and isn't mobile at all. If my grandfather had left to go visit the garden like he had intended to, she'd be gone too.

I've spent a significant amount of time at my cottage throughout my life, and I guess it feels like a piece of me is gone now. That cottage was built by my grandfather's bare hands 50 years ago.

Sigh.