My first memory is when God opened the box of my life on a cold day in November 1941. My twin brother, Patrick had climbed up to the cabinet in our kitchen and retrieved some strike anywhere matches.

Together, as we did most of the time, we went to the barn. The barn had animals in it, and many dollars’ worth of hay in the loft. The manger area was full of hay as well. One of our horses was in the barn eating the hay in the manger.

Patrick, took the match and struck it on the rough wood of the manger, reached over and held the lighted match under the nose of the horse. The horse shook its head and the lit match fell into the hay. As the fire blazed, Patrick and I ran from the barn. I ran to the house and called, "Mommy, the barn is on fire!"

Mother ran from the house and said to me, "Patricia, stay there by the fence."  I stood by the fence trembling at the sight of the blazing inferno. Even though the day was cold, I could feel the heat from the fire. The fire was so intense the chicken house, which was about 50 feet from the barn, sustained scorching on the side closest to the barn.

When mom had the animals out of the barn, she came to where I was and scolded me for not telling her Patrick had the matches. She then said to me, "Where is Patrick?"

I said, "I don't know, he came out of the barn with me."

Later Patrick came out of hiding. He was okay. He had been hiding in the hog shed.

That day two thorns came out of my box. The thorn of fear from not knowing where my twin was after the fire and the second thorn was a thorn of rejection from my mother.

Later in life as I was to go through a difficult time, it was determined I had lost my ability to communicate with my mother that day, which would cost me dearly.