1988. I’m a high school senior, standing in Notre-Dame de Paris. It’s a rather magnificent place, really. I can somewhat understand why people are impressed—vaulted ceilings, stained glass, massive arches, the whole bit—but my adolescent brain isn’t exactly firing on all cylinders when it comes to grasping the grandeur of human achievement.

Anyway, I’m soaking it all in when suddenly—crash! A loud noise, completely unexpected in a place like this. A puff of gray dust near my feet. Did I imagine a few stone chips flying? Maybe. You know how your mind likes to embellish moments like this. But what I do notice—quite clearly—is a little stone, about the size of a golf ball, just sitting there on the floor to my right. I can only assume it fell from the vault above. Not exactly a comforting thought when you’re standing under an 850-year-old ceiling.

Naturally, my mind starts wandering. What if this wasn’t just some random fallout of some crumbling masonry? What if someone up there—the Big Guy—was sending me a message? Could the heavens have tuned into my scheme to ditch the chaperones for a clandestine rendezvous with my boyfriend (also in Paris with his all-boys’ Catholic school)? Or, maybe those extra glasses of wine I’d snuck from the communal carafe at dinner hadn’t gone unnoticed. Perhaps the universe was sending me a warning shot: Get your moral ducks in a row, Deb. Next time, it won’t be a pebble. It’ll be a proper boulder.

2014. Twenty-six years later, I emerge from the same metro station I did in 1988 for my first glimpse of Paris’ great Gothic cathedral. Little do I know, it will be my final glimpse of this wonder before tragedy would ravage it.

This is the very same cathedral where, as a high school student in 1988, I narrowly escaped an encounter with a rogue chunk of stone plummeting from the heavens. A few feet to the right, and I could have made cathedral history in a rather dramatic, albeit undesirable, fashion. On this 2014 visit, I am in a much better position—mentally and morally—to truly appreciate the grandeur of this sacred space.

2019. I hear the commotion of my office mates as they flick on the TV in the breakroom. Notre-Dame is in flames...

2023 and 2024. My third and fourth visits to Notre-Dame, I am only able to admire from a distance, as she’s shrouded in scaffolding and tucked behind barriers.

Despite losing her roof and iconic spire to a devastating April 2019 fire, this Gothic superstar and spiritual beacon remains the heart of Paris—both geographically and spiritually—just as she has since her completion around 1345. Even from behind barriers and layers of scaffolding, she commands attention and respect.

The 2019 fire melted 450 tons of lead from the cathedral’s 850-year-old roof and spire, scattering toxic debris across the site. The intense heat caused approximately 200 tons of pre-existing scaffolding to fuse with the building, further complicating the already challenging reconstruction ahead.

The restoration effort married tradition and innovation. Architects, engineers, craftsmen, and historic preservation specialists employed cutting-edge tools and technology to meticulously recreate the cathedral while remaining faithful to her original structure and materials. Advanced 3D scanning and modeling techniques captured the Notre Dame’s every intricate detail, while drones equipped with high-resolution cameras conducted detailed aerial surveys, providing invaluable data for assessing damage, identifying areas requiring immediate attention, and monitoring construction progress. To preserve the cathedral’s authenticity, geologists sourced limestone from quarries in the Oise region to match the stone used in the original vaulted ceiling. Oak from 1,000 carefully selected 200±year-old trees from across France—including some planted during Louis XIV’s reign—was harvested to recreate the spire’s original character and strength.

In November of 2024 (a month after my last visit to Paris), she emerged from her cocoon of scaffolding and construction barriers, opening her doors once again to the people of the world.