It rains. And sometimes it pours.

Sunday morning, up before the sun, eager to dance through another day. Always with purpose. Often with plans. Often unraveled.

This day's unraveling came suddenly and early. Mom called at 7:33 am. The Diary Queen is on fire. Could I please drive Dad down there? Mom was too tired. She wanted me to be with Dad.

Yes. I'll be right there.

My parents, along with my brother, own a Dairy Queen. Since 1984 they have been in the business of soft serve, hot dogs, burgers and fudge. They have traveled through more than one lifetime of changes, challenges and heartache in just a few more years than a couple of decades. Today, this chapter in their lives may have been ignited toward conclusion.

The Dairy Queen in Apopka, Florida, just another roadside chain, sped by thousands of drivers everyday, with nary a thought, contains volumes of memories both good and bad, joyful and sad. A building serving up sweetness and smiles, seems benign to the power of significantly influencing the lives of hundreds.

But that's a longer one. Another posting. I'm only a few paragraphs along and tears are already flowing...

The fire raged from the tiny office behind the service counter and spread its heat of 3000 degrees into the steel trussed roof above, and in every direction. An early passerby saved the roof structure from total collapse with a prompt 911 call. Every firetruck from the Apopka Fire Department came, along with paramedics and police officers. This was no cat up a tree or fender bender. These guys live for this stuff.

And thankfully they do. And thankfully there was no one in the building. And thankfully no one was hurt. Just a few more minutes of that heat and the roof would have most positively collapsed, the firefighters said.

Surreal it was. It's not everyday I'm on the scene of such a dramatic event. The only thing besides my keys that I grabbed before rushing out of the house was my camera. Those who know me well, know I am never without my camera. My camera is my memory for when I'm too busy to take it all in. Thousands upon thousands of shots are waiting in rubbermaid and external hard drives for me to take it all in. One day, I tell myself, I will be able to relive my life all over again with these shots. Somehow that brings me peace.

As I recollect the day, more sadness than I've ever known washes over me. From the morning scene I see not the aftershots of a morning blaze, but the beginning of an emptiness, no doubt, creeping most profoundly into the thoughts of all of my siblings and parents as well.

Two days shy of a week ago, we learned that my dad's bout with melanoma has returned. This time the melanoma has lodged itself squarely inside his lung.  Doctors have "given" him six months.

If this blaze ignited three weeks ago, I'm pretty certain it wouldn't carry the significance of today. The deep stretching tentacles of cancer swiftly spreads from patient to neighboring souls and forever changes the reality of what once was. Wrapping around loss. What greater challenge is there?

It rains. And sometimes it pours.