As I sat in the fire captain’s command vehicle, the acrid smell of smoke clung to my clothes.  I heard my grandma’s voice,” Martha, life lessons happen in threes.” Three months ago, flood. I was evacuated from my home. Now, in September, I watched my life go up in flames.  I felt my go-bag at my feet.

My first go-bag came into my life while working in Iraq with a UNICEF program. From the moment I landed in Baghdad, I was in a danger zone. It was a disrupted and destroyed environment, where I found myself training communities in conflict resolution. There was no choice.  We must have a go-bag.  Mine was a simple collection: passport, driver’s license, work ID, phone and charger, a waterproof envelope with emergency contacts, medical details, and my blood type.

Later, I was scheduled to an active warzone in Sri Lanka to work with Save the Children. I was there to train youth in conflict resolution. However, two days before my flight, the tsunami struck. I had my go-bag. I also had additional medical supplies to help the survivors. By this time, I’d learned to add a book or two – for relaxation and stress relief. I was picked up at the airport by the Ahimsa group. We immediately drove south to the disaster areas on the coast to distribute food, clothes, and medical supplies.  The survivors were huddled in tents.  The emergency doctors from China dug into my medical supplies. A survivor saw my reading book and begged to borrow it.  I wrote my name and contact information in the front and passed it over.  My go-bag was a little lighter! Months later, my well-worn copy was returned to me.  (Who knows how many hands it had passed through on its journey.) And there were the hands stretched out, thanking us for the life-saving water-purification system and to touch the Canadian flag on my bag.

I remember the flood.  A knock came. A police officer told me to evacuate by 4 pm. The Elbow River was cresting and coming this way. I loaded my dogs, clothes and my go-bag into my car. I could see the water rising in the next street. I left my bungalow with a note on the window- EVACUATED- and phone number. From there I went to my son and his family. At 10 pm we were evacuated from their home. It would be weeks before I could return home. Up and down the street, houses had garbage bins for destroyed property. Emptied fridges and freezers added a distinct putrid odor. Mud and slime coated everything.

Years ago, three teens came into our lives. They were on the next stage of extended care with social services. We immediately headed to a cabin in the woods. No cell service. Nearest city, 200 km away. All three city kids adjusted: swimming, canoeing, fishing, reading, cooking and hanging out together . . .with no alternatives except a once-a-week trip to town for groceries. Our return to Calgary to start the school year brought three tan, fit, healthy kids with great stories, adventures, and canoe trips.

Our two and a half years together came to an end as the older kids timed out of care and the youngest moved on to a new living arrangement. I decided to create a first aid kit for each one, a place to look for answers when stuck or in need of help. How to handle anger, deal with anxiety, call for help (Kids Help numbers) and other tips personalized to each one’s main concerns.

Years later, I was invited to a birthday party for one of the teens, and he showed me the delapidated paper, carried in his billfold, with his emotional first-aid-kit tips. He asked if I might help him make a new one. That was a different kind of go-bag.

Years ago, when my youngest son was in kindergarten, I befriended a pregnant mom while we waited for our children to be dismissed. I shared a recipe for homemade play-dough and she said she could not have messy play. Her husband would not allow it. She shared how she had to leave perfect vacuum marks in the living room carpet.  The children had to be fed and in their room before her husband came home from work. Her anxiety about her husband’s control spilled out. She hoped things would get better when his baby was born. We kept talking for months. Our conversations turned to personal safety. I shared resources for domestic violence shelters and the importance of having a go-bag ready.

Later, when we returned from our cabin in the woods, we learned that she and the kids left with her mother one night. Her journey began with a simple idea of a go-bag and some supportive conversation. Her go-bag was a symbol of her new-found strength.

Imagine the challenges of having a mother with a flipchart at the kitchen table, always ready to talk things out and brainstorm creative possibilities to solve problems. My negotiation, mediation and conflict resolution skills were practiced with my children, whether they liked it or not. They did survive it and went on to share these skills in their own relationships and families. Perhaps a flip chart would have made a great wedding present?

As my children headed out to different provinces and countries to travel and study, they got their own version of a go-bag, emotional first-aid-kit. We made them together: a favourite book, family phone numbers, friends on the continent they were headed to, stories to remember, tips and all. When one son left for Tromsø Norway, he added a supply of Vitamin D to his music, books, and documents, for those long sunless months.

When mowing my front lawn after the flood, after the Baghdad go-bag, after the tsunami go-bag, after raising children and sending them on their way, the crisp autumn air filled my lungs.  I caught a putrid smell of smoke.  I stepped inside. It hit me. A thick mass of dark grey smoke spilling out my front door. Panic gripped me as I realized my dogs were still inside. My golden retriever, burst through the dense smoke, but my loyal black lab, was hidden in the suffocating smoke. I could hear his whine. It guided me to him through the blackness and piercing smoke alarms. We made it out.

With hands on their collars, my adrenaline surge took me to the middle of the road, in front of a car. It stopped.  It turned out to be a neighbour. He ca1led 911. His wife brought leashes for my dogs. She took them to her yard as four firetrucks arrived. I told the firemen I had my go-bag was inside the front door. They brought it to me, where I stashed it by my feet.

As this was just three months after the flood, no rental properties were available. So,  I lived in a four-season trailer in my neighbour’s garden for the 11 months of my home rebuild. There were -35C days when I needed a hair dryer to get in or out of the frozen shut door. Even there, I kept my go-bag ready.

Now, As an elder person, I have a ‘green sleeve’ document pouch posted on my refrigerator to help 911 responders. It includes contacts, a personal directive, health details, and medication. In my purse … I have a new version of my go-bag: photos on my cellphone of passport, driver’s licence, health care number, donation directive, credit cards, and household shots for insurance (something I learned from the flood).  The vital key is having a go-bag, a green sleeve, or identification all in one place, so it is not a challenge to locate in an emergency.

Over the years, my go-bag has evolved. As I travel, I include phrases in the local language to ask for help. I carry small bills in the country’s currency. Also the phone number of the Canadian Embassy. Sometimes when we leave home it’s for school or work. Sometimes when life is unsafe, it is time to flee. When the sirens sound for tornados, hurricanes, floods, and fires, things happen suddenly. There is no time. Grab your loved ones, get your go-bag and go!

In life’s unpredictability, being prepared with a go-bag isn’t just a plan; it’s a lifeline. Do not wait for disaster to strike; be ready. In my story, here is the third shoe that dropped.  It was first the flood, then the fire. (What next? The locusts? A famine?) It was Covid.  Today, as I prepare for takeoff, I stuff my go-bag under the seat in front of me. I am ready.