The Big Rain

TWENTY-TWO YEARS AGO TODAY, I knew nothing about toxic mold.

All I knew was that toxic mold was bad.

I thought mold only happened to people who didn’t maintain their homes ─ such as not taking care of leaks, or ignoring warning signs like a stained ceiling, a musty smell, or an unexplained water puddle.

I thought if mold appeared, all the homeowner needed to do was clean it up.

Not that cleaning it up would be easy ─ find and stop the leak, clean up the mold, remove wet or damaged surfaces, dry the area, then rebuild. Of course mold would be gone after enough effort, right?

I’d watched a documentary about a home overtaken by mold ─ black mold grew up the walls and hung low from the ceiling. I watched in slack-jaw amazement as the interviewer and a Tyvek-covered crew gingerly meandered down plastic-covered hallways. I couldn’t look away from the screen, like I was driving past the aftermath of a freeway vehicle pileup. “How could the homeowners let it get so bad?” I wondered aloud. “Why didn’t they fix the small black spot when it first appeared?”

Twenty-two years ago, my husband and I had just finished expanding and remodeling our home. With four bedrooms, three baths, two living areas, and two home offices, it was perfect for our family of five.

While life wasn’t perfect, it was pretty good. We were stable and healthy. Our kids enjoyed school, had friends, and were in activities they enjoyed.

I was naive about mold back then. I didn’t know what mold could do and how quickly it could do it.

Then we had a nineteen-inch rain.

And everything changed.

9-7-2002