In the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains, where quiet streets and towering trees shaped the lives of its residents, Susan Toler Carr and her husband, Darrell, sifted through the ashes of what had once been their home. Among the charred debris, Susan’s eye caught a glimmer of turquoise — a small, untouched butterfly sculpture. Though nearly everything was destroyed by the wildfire that swept through Altadena, this fragile relic had survived.
The butterfly became more than a symbol of resilience; it reaffirmed their determination to stay. This wasn’t just any house—it was home.
For the Carrs, their century-old Spanish Colonial Revival home had been the backdrop to 25 years of memories. It was where they raised their only son, Justin—a young man of immense talent and promise. Justin was an aspiring architect, a swimmer who glided effortlessly through the water, a gifted poet, an artist, and a singer with a voice that could fill a room. He had dreamed big dreams within those walls.
Even after his passing at the age of 16, Justin’s presence remained tangible in the home. His bedroom, preserved since 2013, held his carefully chosen paint colors, his poems, and his art. Butterflies—a motif he loved, inspired by his favorite swimming stroke—appeared in various forms, as if to remind his parents that his spirit lingered.
But now, much of it was gone. “I feel like part of my life went up in smoke,” Susan shared.
A Legacy of Resilience
Altadena is a diverse, middle-class community nestled in the shadow of Pasadena. It had little in common with the affluent neighborhoods of Pacific Palisades, where multimillion-dollar homes bask in ocean breezes—until the fires linked them in shared devastation.
For the Carrs, rebuilding isn’t just a question of architecture; it’s a deeply personal decision rooted in history, love, and loss.
Justin’s life was shaped by the values instilled by generations before him. His father grew up in Pasadena alongside Jackie Robinson, while his grandfather, Burl Toler, broke barriers as the NFL’s first Black referee. These legacies of strength and perseverance shaped Justin’s own outlook on life.
As a student at Harvard-Westlake, Justin stood out not only for his intellect but for his determination. In a poignant poem he wrote for class, he reflected on navigating predominantly white spaces:
“Walking down white halls with white walls,
With kinks in my hair and the dark skin I wear,
Left me feeling like a fly in a bowl of milk.”
Despite feeling out of place, Justin sat in the front row, refusing to fade into the background. His confidence and kindness touched those around him, inspiring a friend and teammate to pitch a no-hitter on the day of Justin’s memorial service.
When Justin died suddenly from a rare heart condition, it shattered his parents’ world. Darrell, paralyzed by grief, confided to his older brother that he didn’t want to live anymore. But his brother’s words planted a seed: it was Darrell’s responsibility to carry on Justin’s dreams.
At Justin’s memorial service, Darrell recalled a moment that would become the foundation of his son’s legacy. At just 4 years old, Justin was asked to say grace at dinner. He prayed for family, friends, neighbors, and pets before finishing with a wish for world peace.
“That moment,” Darrell said, “showed me I was sitting next to someone extraordinary—like Gandhi or Martin Luther King.”
The Carrs turned their grief into action, founding the Justin Carr Wants World Peace Foundation. The organization provides scholarships, free art programs, heart screenings, and health awareness initiatives to combat SCA and save lives. Additionally, through peace-building workshops, webinars, and community events, the foundation encourages individuals to create a more inclusive, empathetic world, fulfilling Justin’s lifelong vision for world peace, one act of kindness at a time. Its logo—a silhouette of Justin flashing a peace sign—was designed using a photograph Darrell took of his son.
Walking through the remains of their home, Susan and Darrell found fragments of beauty amidst the devastation. The herringbone brick chimney Justin had designed still stood. So did the metal gate crafted by one of Darrell’s former students, bearing the words Justin Carr Wants World Peace.
“That gate is a symbol of Justin’s strength,” Darrell said. “It’s something to lean on for a new beginning.”
The Carrs’ decision to rebuild isn’t just about constructing a new house. It’s about preserving the memories and legacy of their son, honoring the space where he once thrived, and finding a way forward after unimaginable loss.
“There are no stages of grief,” Darrell said. “You just learn to manage it. When people ask how I am, I say, ‘I am.’”
As they face the daunting task of rebuilding, the Carrs are buoyed by the resilience they’ve carried for years. The butterfly, small and unbroken, is a reminder that even in the face of destruction, there is hope for renewal.
For Susan and Darrell, home isn’t just a physical space—it’s where Justin’s dreams live on.
Story Sources:
Yorumlar