April 25, 1994. A night never to be forgotten. The kids and I had moved back into the house after a separation from my husband. We had been living in Dayton, Ohio for about a month, and came back home to try one more time to work things out. Driving in through the storm, I should have known it was not going to be a good beginning.

The kids climbed out of the Plymouth Grand Voyager, happy to be back. Screaming for joy, they didn't care they were being pelted with rain. It was late for them to be going to bed; it was almost nine o'clock. Giving them all baths, I tucked them in their beds, read them some Dr. Seuss stories, and went about unpacking my things. It was time for me to relax, so I took a bath, and cleaned up. As I climbed out of the tub, the house literally shook. Startled, I realized that the thunderstorms I had heard predicted on the radio on the way back into town were here.

Quickly toweling off, I dressed, and walked through the house, opening windows to get good cross-ventilation. By now, it was close to eleven o'clock, and I was yawning. I could smell the rain, and began to think about climbing in bed myself. As I opened my sons' room, I realized that they weren't in their room. Concerned, I opened my daughter's door, and found them in there, with their sister.

"Boys? Matt? Andrew? Why are you in here?" They were both curled up on the floor, under their sister's bed. "We're scared, Mommy." I didn't say anything at first. Holding them, I decided it wasn't a big deal, and let them stay. Abby chimed in, saying that she didn't care if they were there. "It's OK with me if they're here. I really don't care, Mom." I nodded, and gave them all the big, sloppy kisses they so loved, and then I pulled some sleeping bags over them, and headed for bed myself. Climbing into my California king-size bed, I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow. I was tired, and the fresh air with the scent of the rain did me in.

About a half hour later or so, I remember propping an eyelid open and thinking to myself that the blinds to my window were almost vertical in the air. I know I thought it was odd, but too tired to care, did nothing about it. And then, the next thing I remember is the ceiling unzipping, literally. And thinking to myself, John is going to kill me for this. Then the next thing was hearing Abby screaming "Mommy, Mommy!" I remember standing up, calling her name back. She climbed back up what was left of some

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