Editor’s Note: This article originally appeared in our January 2026 print Special Edition on the Eaton Fire.
Altadena, one year later (Photo – Staff)
Losing my home of 33 years in the Eaton fire was a devastating experience that changed my life forever. It was a nightmare come true; one I would never wish on anyone. The fire swept through our community with terrifying speed, leaving destruction in its wake and taking with it the place where I had created countless memories, felt safe, and truly belonged. Life at 60 was not supposed to be like this.
By Enrique Moreno
The day the fire started remains a vivid horror in my memory. It was a warm, dry afternoon, and the sky was thick with ominous smoke. Reports of the fire spread quickly, and soon our neighborhood was on high alert. We were given very little time to gather our belongings and evacuate. I had a “go-bag” with some essentials and medication, a few old photographs and important papers I kept in briefcases, and I grabbed a couple of pieces of art I had purchased recently before getting out.
The scene outside felt like something from a disaster movie—many of my neighbors frantically packed up their cars. The air was thick with swirling smoke, and I could see the flames on the hillside racing toward us. The wind was fierce, and bright embers flew everywhere. I had never been more afraid for our neighborhood and our lives. The chaos and urgency of that day are hard to put into words.
The aftermath of the Eaton fire was like stepping into a nightmare. The place where I had built my life was now just a smoldering pile of rubble. My home—the sanctuary I had carefully crafted over three decades—was reduced to twisted metal and ash. Walking through the ruins, I came across remnants of my life: a charred Dutch oven, a melted coffee table, each one a painful reminder of what was lost. The air was thick with the scent of burnt memories, and a profound sense of loss washed over me.
I am fortunate to have a close circle of family and friends in Southern California. I stayed with friends in Pasadena for a few days, and my insurance company, who was incredibly proactive, helped me find temporary housing. I stayed in a hotel for a month and eventually found an apartment in Pasadena.
Navigating all the paperwork for insurance, FEMA, the Red Cross, and the Army Corps of Engineers was a daunting challenge. Thankfully, I had friends to help guide me through it, allowing me to get back to my real job. It became another full-time job managing the claims and paperwork from this disaster. I’m also incredibly grateful that my employer was so supportive during this time.
I’m only just beginning my recovery, seven months later. I’ve moved to the Pacific Northwest now, and I feel like I can breathe again. I’m starting to look to the future, making decisions about rebuilding my home, my life, and my sense of security—not something I ever anticipated having to do at the age of 60. But I have a strong group of friends, both in Southern California and in the Pacific Northwest, and I can’t help but feel incredibly fortunate. Without them, I know I wouldn’t be here.
The fire took nearly everything I’ve ever owned, but in its wake, I discovered the true meaning of resilience, the ability to rise from the ashes, scarred but not broken. I learned that community is not just a place but a lifeline that binds us together in times of need. And I understood, with newfound clarity, that safety is not a given but a precious gift we must fight to protect.
Enrique Moreno lost his house in the Eaton Fire.He currently resides in the Pacific Northwest.
My teenage years in the 1950’s were spent living and loving our beautiful Altadena home on Mariposa and Santa Anita with my parents and four brothers the best childhood a girl could have had. Years later, while still living in the area, I frequently drove by our former home with friends or family to reminisce about the years spent in this one of a kind house. From Washington state, I can still see in my mind’s eye my bedroom with closet walls covered with pictures of Photoplay and Modern Screen movie stars of the day, as well as the large mahogany lined living room where family gatherings and slumber parties were held, or the pool room at the top of the spiral staircase where I entertained my friends after school.
We had few vacations during those years, as my parents spent most of their spare time and money refinishing and replacing old heating systems, walls with five layers of wallpaper and paint, landscaping and gardening to maintain the beauty of the outside, as well as the inside, of the house.
I feel most sorry for the current residents of the house who likely lost everything they owned, along with pictures, legal papers, artwork, and personal memorabilia.
The sting of so much loss will remain with current and former residents forever, but it is rewarding to see the comradery developing among the people of Altadena to help and support their neighbors. Before I lay my head for a final resting place, I hope to see a restored Altadena with the character and environment that has been home to many hundreds of (perhaps thousands) people who take pride in their homes and neighborhoods and practice the Golden Rule as good neighbors.
well wish I was only 60. I’m 71 and didn’t even evacuate. I stayed and fought the SOB. My neighbor was 97, I cannot imagine what she went through. we both made it through though and have to deal with the aftermath like you.
Thank you for sharing your story. We all need to, at one point, write it down. It is our collective experience.