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You don't know me or whether or not I have "been there". February 4, 2000, at 11:20pm, I was awakened by a phone call. My oldest son and my 10 year old grandson had been taken to the hospital both in critical condition after their house caught fire. My 2 grandaughters, ages 6 and 18 monthes, were dead. My son nearly died trying to save them. When the police got there, they held my screaming son to keep him from going back in the house after his children. The policeman told me it was the hardest thing he ever did. The policeman cried while he held my horribly burned son while my grandaughters burned to death in that house. The last thing the baby saw while she screamed in panic was her Daddy's face through the flames trying to get to her. He broke out a window from the outside trying to get her. He reached through the window trying to pull her off the bed but came up with her empty blanket. Thats how close he came to saving her. He was placed in an ambulance and watched as they brought his 2 little dead girls out of that burning house. He laid in the hospital in critical care for 2 weeks fighting for his life. He repeated over and over, "My babies, my babies". When he finally began to improve, his babies were already buried and he never got to say goodbye to them. Our family has to live with the pain of this tradgedy every day of our lives, so don't presume to tell me I have never been there. I voiced an opinion and until it becomes illegal to have an opinion, I will continue to voice my opinions.