Sharla Moore with her husband, Eric, and sons, Nathan and Jackson

Navigating Multiple Tragedies Amid Los Angeles Fire

After losing her home in the Eaton fire, Sharla Moore's City of Hope community rallied around her
Sharla Moore with her sons, Nathan and Jackson, outside of her home before the Eton fire
Sharla Moore with her sons, Nathan and Jackson, outside their home before the Eaton fire.

Everybody loves Sharla Moore.

For 15 years she has managed, facilitated and served as chief hand-holder for the doctors and scientists in the Women’s Cancers Program at City of Hope, overseeing grant submissions, research studies and breast and gynecological clinical trials. People depend on her and like being around her.

“She is our favorite person over here,” said Raechelle Tinsley, a friend and colleague. “She is a fan favorite all over campus. She is just that person that everyone loves.”

They also remember Eric.

Losing Her Husband to Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma

It was early in 2014 when Moore’s husband came to City of Hope, suffering from adenoid cystic carcinoma, a rare cancer that had been crippling him for more than a decade. When Eric passed away in the intensive care unit, the attending physician happened to be from Sharla’s department. It was like a death in the family.

“We watched and lived her loss with her,” said Tinsley. “Cancer is already personal to all of us,
but when it takes hold of one of our own, it really ups the score.”

Moore was left to raise their two young sons, Jackson and Nathan, alone at their home in La Cañada. “They were 10 and 8 when he died,” she explained, “so I was trying to keep things consistent for them school-wise.”

But in June 2024, with both boys now in college, Moore decided it was time for a change. Time to find a dream home. A forever home.

She found it in Altadena, California.

She spent months fixing up the house, remodeling it exactly the way she wanted it. And she quickly became a neighborhood fixture.

“In the short time spent at Sharla's house,” said friend and neighbor Emma Abdalla, “it quickly became a home to all of our family close by.”

But then came Tuesday, Jan. 7. Moore and her son Jackson (at home on a break; her other son Nathan was at school) felt the “horrible” winds and watched the growing flames. The Eaton Fire (named for nearby Eaton Canyon, where it began) was bearing down.

“Never in a million years would I imagine that the fire would come down that low,” she said. “I thought we might get evacuated, there'll be smoke damage, but for the fire to come that far….” her voice trails off.

Before long, she knew they had to get out.

Evacuating Altadena as Fires Moved Closer

Sharla Moore's house after the Eton fire
The damage to Sharla Moore's home after the Eaton fire.

“We went outside,” she recalled, “and we could see people starting to pack things up and evacuating, and we started to get more nervous. So we started grabbing a couple things,” including their three cats, which had to be wrangled in the dark — power had already been shut off. They kept trying to save anything meaningful, not easy in a house packed with memories. A few photos off the walls. Eric’s framed law school degree. The safe with passports and other important documents. Would that be enough? Now she wonders.

“Why didn't I grab my checkbook?” she asks. “I have a book of passwords. Why didn't I grab my book of passwords? Why didn't we grab more? Why didn't we do this? Why didn’t we do that?”

Because they expected to return home.

As they drove, “you could feel the wind pushing your car,” she recalled. Their first stop was a friend’s home in La Cañada before realizing they were still in harm’s way. So they drove further, finally settling in with Moore’s sister in Huntington Beach at around 11 p.m.

By Wednesday, details of the disaster began to emerge: 14,000 acres burned, 7,000 structures damaged or destroyed. Was Moore’s home among them? Someone sent her a video. She recognized her scorched garage, but she couldn’t see the house at all.

The next day, she decided to see for herself. Accompanied by her sister and son, Moore returned to Altadena, driving past a police officer who was not happy about it. She wasn’t prepared for what came next.

“You're driving up and you're just seeing my neighborhood is just demolished,” she said. “It looks like a bomb went off. It looks like the apocalypse.

“So we turn the corner and — you still have this hope — and then there's a random house sitting there and there's destruction, and then a random house. So we pull around the corner — and it's gone.”

Little was recognizable in the still-smoldering rubble — just a cast iron pan Moore received over Christmas. Not much else.

“You could see the coils from the couch," she said. “My couches that I had just gotten a couple months ago that I love so much. My sons had computer desks in their rooms with their computers. You can see the outline of the PC boxes and the metal. We picked a couple things that survived, which was good, but it's just overwhelming to think that everything is gone.”

Eventually she hopes to return and rebuild, but she knows how challenging that will be.

Focusing on Rebuilding

Sharla Moore surveys the damage to her home after the Eton fire
 Moore surveys what is left of her home after the Eaton fire.

“I want to live in that house,” she declared emphatically. “I want to live in that community. I want to be a part of that, but how do you rebuild 1,000 houses? How do you rebuild entire neighborhoods?”

Right now, she finds herself in “survival” mode, still “processing” what has happened.

“We're laughing one minute,” she says, “and like crying because we're laughing so hard and then it's tears because I thought of something that was my husband's that was in the house, that there's no way we're getting back. It's just like a rollercoaster. I would say I’m having 15 different emotions every day.”

Almost immediately though, Moore’s City of Hope community quickly came to her aid. Friends, colleagues, co-workers — many who lost homes themselves — have stepped up. One started a GoFundMe page for the family. In just a few days it raised more than $50,000, thanks in part to donations by many of the physicians who’ve known and worked with Moore over the years. To say nothing of the piles of messages of love, concern and support sent by the City of Hope family. Moore plans to acknowledge them all, eventually.

“City of Hope was there for me when my husband was sick,” she said. “They were super supportive. I love the people who work there. And now this happens, and my house is gone. But so many other City of Hope people's houses are gone, too. People want to help, and they are so supportive: ‘What can we do? How can we help?’”

She’s gone back to work, remotely. She knows starting over from scratch — like so many others — won’t be easy.

She’ll do her best.