Psychology Today | 06.08.2026 02:30
When I learned that a wildfire was moving toward the treehouse that my sister and I had built together as children, I felt a pit in my stomach. My sister died unexpectedly not long after we built it, and over the years, the treehouse became one of the few tangible pieces of our childhood together that remained. We had nailed wooden ladder rungs up the trunk. The snack shelves we built while arguing about which snacks to buy at the market. Ane wea added a mailbox where we left each other letters, excitedly raising the little red flag to alert the other of what was waiting inside.
