It is unfortunate, however, that in our society we give little credence to the impact and weight that can accompany the death of a cherished pet.

As a therapist, I’ve spent many sessions helping clients navigate the complexity of emotion and pain that arise with the passing of an animal. And in recent months, my family experienced the loss of a pet – an adventurous and faithful dog named Oliver – eliciting my own feelings of sadness, loss, and grief. 

All of this has led me to wonder – what is it about the loss of a pet that is so unexpectedly painful? And why does this experience of loss feel different from the other types of loss we experience throughout our lives?

My aim in this blog post is to explore these questions and provide some helpful suggestions for those currently experiencing grief surrounding the loss of an animal.

The Unique Experience of Losing a Pet

Most of us have experienced the painful loss of important people in our lives; and it’s just as likely that many of us have also lost pets, whether it’s a cat, a dog, a hamster, or a horse.

Although these experiences encompass many of the same emotions, there is something qualitatively different about pet grief. In my experience, and in the experience of my clients, the loss of a pet is a layered and symbolic loss of that season of life we enjoyed with that animal.

Animals do not live as long as us. But in those brief years they are with us, we as humans experience significant changes and events in our lives – we may leave home for college, we may get married and have children, we may experience a season of depression or suffering, we may lose a parent or partner.

So much can happen and change in a matter of years; and often the only thing that is consistent in such a state of flux is our pet’s faithful presence. Their presence grounds us and provides us with a sense of stability and routine, especially during tumultuous times.

We form bonds with animals unlike any other bond, and their presence, loyalty, and love is one of the few things we can rely on in our lives. They become our companion and friend, giving our day-to-day lives a sense of joyful purpose.

So when our pet becomes sick or passes away, it shakes our sense of stability and reality. We come home and no one is there to happily greet us; we wake in the morning and notice an absence; our routine is altered as we are no longer needed to feed, walk, or groom our faithful friend.

The loss can make life feel unreal, unsettling, and confusing. So what are we to do when we lose a pet? And how can we ease and lean into the process of grief?

Ways to Honor and Navigate the Process of Pet Grief

Grief is a way to honor the meaning and impact our pets have had on our lives. And although not comprehensive, I’d like to offer a few suggestions for how you can navigate the process:

1. Reflect and express gratitude

When our pet gets sick or old, we often have time to prepare for their loss. In this time before or after their death, spend time looking through photos of them and recall your favorite memories of them. Reflect on and express gratitude for the companionship they gave you and the meaning they added to your life.

2. Talk about them

Our pets are very much like our family members. One way to honor them after they have passed is to recount favorite stories with others. Through our stories, they are given new life in our memory; and through the telling of these stories, we can also mend the emptiness left in their absence.

3. Create a meaningful burial

You may have the option to bury your animal or cremate them. The act of burial can provide you with a sense of closure and of putting your pet to final rest. You can spread ashes in their favorite part of the backyard, on their favorite walk, or somewhere that was meaningful to the both of you.

4. Be patient

Grief has no time limit. It ebbs and flows over weeks, months, and years. Give yourself permission to grieve, to feel the complex emotions, and to recognize that the loss of a pet is real and worth paying attention to. Take a day off of work, tell others about it, and, most importantly, take care of yourself. 

About the author: Kevin Culver, LPCC, is a professional counselor, published author, and owner of Resilient Kindness Counseling. Kevin has a MA in Mental Health Counseling and a BA in Theological Studies. With a background in spirituality, philosophy, and psychological research, Kevin provides a holistic approach to therapy that seeks to honor each client’s unique personality, worldview, and life aspirations. In his therapeutic work, he helps clients rediscover their humanity and create greater meaning in their lives, work, and relationships. He enjoys working with individuals from all backgrounds, but specializes in working with men’s issues, spirituality, and relationship issues. If you are interested in working with Kevin or learning more about his practice, please visit resilientkindness.com or email him at kevin@resilientkindness.com

For the Marriage, Couple and Family Issues in Counseling class in my graduate program, we needed to complete a genogram, a visual family-tree of sorts that details not only family relationships but also the quality of family relationships. While outlining the family issues in my mother’s father’s family of origin, I noticed patterns of distance, not only in the relationships but also in physical distance. According to my mother, this was due to my maternal grandfather’s own father’s alcoholism and abuse toward his family.

Several of my mother’s aunts and uncles moved far from Ohio at the beginning of the 20th century. One of my mother’s uncles, Edgar, left Ohio to serve during World War II and never returned. My mother had known that Edgar had been injured in a sea battle near American Samoa and chose to stay in Samoa after the war. Throughout my life, Mom told me stories that we had cousins in Samoa, but we had never learned of them or communicated with them.

To complete my project, I decided to try to find our extended family in Samoa, if possible. I followed many cold leads but finally found some people in Samoa with my grandfather’s surname, Ash. I found some names on a gravestone that matched not only my great Uncle, Edgar, but also the names of his/my grandfather’s siblings, including my mother’s middle name, Jean. My mother was named after her cousin, Jean, whose parents died in a shootout in a speakeasy during Prohibition in Cincinnati. Jean was cared for by several in her family, including my grandfather. It had to be more than coincidence that all these names were on one gravestone in Samoa. But yet, the path grew cold as I tried to find any of these people through web searches in Samoa.

On a whim, I looked up “Jean Ash” in Samoa, because that name was on the gravestone. The first search result listed the publisher of the largest newspaper group in Samoa, Jean Ash Malifa. I kept looking past that result because I thought that was probably not right. However, after clicking on several other results that yielded nothing, I decided to click on that. There was no picture and no way for me to verify any possible relationship with this publisher. So, I decided to write a letter to the editor and ask if they knew if Jean had a father, Edgar, who was related to me. I fully expected to be laughed off. But, it was worth a try, and the next day I received an email.

Jarrett, Jean’s youngest son, emailed me saying, “Hi Lisa, you have definitely reached the right place. Jean Ash Malifa is my mother and Edgar Louis Ash is my grandfather.” He went on to detail how they had looked for us for decades after losing touch, even flying to Cincinnati from Samoa to look for family in 2017. They lost hope. Then, they received my email, and it has been a wonderful reunion ever since. The picture at the top of this blog post is of Jean and my Samoan cousin, Jarrett, along with his wife, Anastassia, and Jean’s grandchildren. Jarrett and Anastassia flew out to meet our family this summer for my mom’s 85 th birthday. This spoke to me that although family issues, time, distance, and death can separate us, we can still reconnect if we desire.

Even though my great Uncle Edgar was given a “European” rather than a Samoan funeral, there are aspects of his life and death that span the globe and now bring some qualities of Samoa to my life – like respect for elders, deep love of family, and persevering to bring family together.

There is a strong sense of kinship felt in the connection with my long-lost family members that is prevalent in Samoan society. According to research, this kinship does not end with death but endures and encompasses families and ancestors who have passed, as a continuing bond. (Seuli, 2017) A tradition called “fa’aaloaloga fa’asamoa (or reciprocal distributions)” at the funeral services provides a forum for the grieving family to show their appreciation to their honored guests at the funeral in giving generously to family and guests. Often, fine floor mats made of leaves and bird feathers called “ʻie toga” are exchanged to honor the dead and the grieving family. After the mourning ceremonies, the family and community carry home leftover food and gifts to bring honor to the memory and status of the deceased member through caring for each other in the community as a “e fai mea mafai” or a family who is able to ‘walk the talk’ (Seuli, 2017).

My new-found family has demonstrated this generosity and kindness to us in responding and visiting from a long distance, bringing gifts along with them. I look forward to continuing to build the bonds across the globe that my great Uncle Edgar began decades ago.

For great insight into Samoan culture and rituals, check out the following articles:

Enari, D., & Rangiwai, B. W. (2021). Digital innovation and funeral practices: Māori and Samoan
perspectives during the COVID-19 pandemic. AlterNative: An International Journal of Indigenous
Peoples, 17(2), 346–351. https://doi.org/10.1177/11771801211015568

Seiuli, B. M. S. (2017). Samoan death rituals in a New Zealand context. Journal of Psychology and
Cognition, 2(1), 35–43.

And check out this great article in the Samoan Observer by my cousin, Jarrett Malifa, about our reunion:
https://www.samoaobserver.ws/category/columns/104739

About the Author: As a mother of six sons, Lisa’s greatest joy in life is her family. Tragically, however, in 2002, she and her husband, Aaron, lost their fourth son Benjamin in an unexpected accident. From then on, Lisa experienced a long, painful struggle with post-traumatic stress disorder and deep grief. She was introduced to yoga as a daily practice to help her rest and reset her mind. After over 18 years of her personal growth as a student and a teacher of yoga, she continues to explore the relationship between spirituality, somatics and mental health. She is currently pursuing a master’s degree in clinical mental health counseling at Messiah University and is privileged to work with People House as an Affordable Counseling Intern. Upon licensure, she intends to combine her in-depth knowledge of spiritual practices, yoga, and meditation with clinical counseling techniques to offer holistic therapy to clients, focusing on grief, trauma and bereavement issues for parents.

I was raised in a home and community that would be described as Evangelical Christian, White with upper-middle socioeconomic expectations. We generally focused on the “blessings” we were given by God: life, love and, really, the American Dream. While I do not look down on all of it (there were some beautiful aspects), there was a sense of being shielded from the realities experienced by many in our country and around the world. We also were encouraged or expected in some sense to cover over our own sufferings and challenges, perhaps due to the unspoken but widely felt belief that all things work out for the good of those who follow God. Our churches rarely had crucifixes displayed because, as I was told, we did not serve a Savior who died but one who resurrected from the dead. As a child, I remember wanting to feel distraught about the death of Jesus on Good Friday, but struggled with feeling much of anything. We did rejoice on Easter, though, mainly with new clothes, big meals and Easter baskets filled with candy.

Again, while I do not despise the rituals in my home, I do regret being shielded from contemplating death. As a teen, I remember seeing a story about Día de Los Muertos celebrations in Mexico and getting a message from someone in my life that focusing on death like that was “ungodly” and a celebration of death and dying. With all of the skulls, it seemed almost scary to me, but there was also something that felt lively and engaging – human. I kept my opinion to myself for a few decades until my husband and I moved our family to El Paso, Texas, and we could connect with my husband’s Mexican heritage.

The beauty of El Paso is indescribable to someone who has not lived there and absorbed the Chihuahuan desert for what it is – arid yet lively. The colors of the desert jump out from the backdrop of cacti and rocks. Similarly, the celebrations of Día de Los Muertos display the vibrancy and human connection within that ancient culture.

Día de Los Muertos is an acculturated holiday combining Christian Catholic beliefs held by the Spanish conquistadores with the 3,000 year old harvest ritual celebration of Mictecacihuatl, the Lady of the Dead or La Muerte, in the Mexica/Nahua culture, also known as the Aztecs. The Mexica believed that Mictecacihuatl, sacrificed as a baby, grew to adulthood and married in the underworld. She and her husband, Mictlantecuhtli, ruled the underworld together and collected the bones of the dead to be returned to the land of the living and restored by the gods. The food and precious objects buried with the newly dead were intended as offerings to these gods to ensure their safety in the underworld. Mictecacihuatl is often represented with a defleshed body and with her jaws wide open, so that she can swallow the stars and make them invisible during the day.

The original Mexica celebrations of Mictecacihuatl, were ruled over by her which is why skulls and skeletons dominate many of the rituals. Skulls were viewed by the Mexica/Nahua peoples as representing the possibility of new life beyond instead of death. The skull, or calavera, is one of the key objects displayed on the ofrenda, or “offering”, a home altar dedicated to the memory of those who have died. The shape of the ofrenda is pyramid-like with three tiers, reflecting not only the pyramids of Mesoamerican cultures but also the tepetl, or “sacred mountain”, so common and revered in these cultures. In addition to pictures of the deceased, each ofrenda also contains items which also have deep connections to the Mexica culture.

Fragrant cempazúchitl, or Aztec Marigolds, are native to Mexico and the symbolic flower of death for the Mexica, because once it is cut, it dies very quickly. Candles placed on the ofrenda light the way for the deceased to visit while the path of fresh marigolds through the house toward the altar guide the soul through their scent. Copal, a tree resin incense used by several Mesoamerican cultures, is also burned on the altar to indicate the presence of the soul returning to the ofrenda.

Papel picado, or perforated paper, forms a decorative surrounding of the ofrenda of elaborate cut-out designs into sheets of colorful tissue paper which catch the wind and represent the returning of the soul to the home. This descends from the Mexica tradition of chiseling spirit figures into bark made from mulberry and fig tree bark to make a rough paper called amate.

Water, other favorite drinks like tequila, traditional Mexican dishes like tamales and mole, and favorite objects of the deceased also are placed on the ofrenda, for the deceased soul’s refreshment and enjoyment. Most research points to the historically Spanish origin of the pan de muertos, or sweet bread with a shape of the cross, also given for the deceased on the ofrenda. This represents the anthropological and historical influences of Spain and the Mexica on the rituals of the ofrenda and the Día de Los Muertos, and which also forms much of the culture in Mexico and El Paso, and my husband and sons.

My husband had not practiced the ritual of the ofrenda in his family of origin but, when we moved to El Paso, we rediscovered the ritual as a helpful and sweet way to remember our own beautiful son, who has blood connections through my husband to Mexica culture. So, while it is not my own cultural ritual, I have adopted it as a comforting way to reconnect our family not only with the memory of Benny, but also grandparents and others who have passed in the family. When assembled, it is a gorgeous remembrance and a colorful hope of a life we cannot always see, and a reminder to let go of our fear of death.

Resources:
https://dayofthedead.holiday/traditions/the-ofrenda/
https://www.gavilan.edu/news/2021/10/Whatisanofrendaanditssignificance.pdf
https://www.ofrendamagazine.com/articles/a-dia-de-los-muertos-perspective-my-path-with-
mictecacihuatl-lady-of-the-dead
https://theconversation.com/day-of-the-dead-from-aztec-goddess-worship-to-modern-mexican-
celebration-124962

About the Author: As a mother of six sons, Lisa’s greatest joy in life is her family. Tragically, however, in 2002, she and her husband, Aaron, lost their fourth son Benjamin in an unexpected accident. From then on, Lisa experienced a long, painful struggle with post-traumatic stress disorder and deep grief. She was introduced to yoga as a daily practice to help her rest and reset her mind. After over 18 years of her personal growth as a student and a teacher of yoga, she continues to explore the relationship between spirituality, somatics and mental health. She is currently pursuing a master’s degree in clinical mental health counseling at Messiah University and is privileged to work with People House as an Affordable Counseling Intern. Upon licensure, she intends to combine her in-depth knowledge of spiritual practices, yoga, and meditation with clinical counseling techniques to offer holistic therapy to clients, focusing on grief, trauma and bereavement issues for parents.

One of my favorite metaphors for the beauty but brevity of life is the cherry blossom. During spring, the delicate flowers of the cherry blossom tree, or sakura, represent the aromatic and vibrant beauty of life. In a few weeks, though, their abundant blooms flutter to the ground creating a snow-like carpet for spring, whispering to us the truth that life is breathtaking and fleeting.

The Japanese tradition of viewing the sakura at full bloom, called hanami, was formerly a time of prayers and offerings but is currently a time of celebration and family picnics. When our family lived in Washington D.C., each spring we looked forward to visiting the grove of flowering cherry trees, donated by the Japanese government over a century ago, surrounding the Tidal Basin at the Jefferson Memorial. Our sons played under the fragrant blooms, and we had picnics and took gorgeous pictures. I did not know why I felt a deeper appreciation for this site until a few years later when I researched the meaning in the cherry blossoms.

The beauty yet brevity of the cherry blossoms illustrates a Japanese idiom, mono no aware, meaning “the empathy of things” or the wistfulness one feels when contemplating the passing of life and time. A scholar during Japan’s Edo Period (1730-1801), Motoori Norinaga, believed that Japanese literature should reflect this concept:

“To know mono no aware is to discern the power and essence, not just of the moon and the cherry blossoms, but of every single thing existing in this world, and to be stirred by each of them.”

Thus, the concept and the hanami, or viewing of the cherry blossoms, should awaken in us a powerful sense of the exquisite value of life because of its impermanence.

Upon hearing of this interpretation of the cherry blossoms, I understood why their ephemeral beauty spoke to me. In 2002, my 14-month-old son, Benjamin, passed away in a tragic accident. Everything I knew to be real and my sense of self imploded in one moment that day. The beauty that was my son disappeared from my tangible reality. I was shattered and took years to reassemble my life. Only now, nearly 20 years later, am I feeling like the gold-repaired kintsugi pottery, broken yet sealed back together in a new way, revealing a new kind of beauty. Benjamin’s life was so very brief, yet the lessons I have gained from his life reverberate down through mine.

The beauty of spring and the cherry blossoms can bring meaning to our lives, helping us learn from the impermanence of things yet inspiring us to cherish the beauty in each moment.

Through Benjamin’s death, I have endeavored to help others process the impact of loss and discover their own sense of meaning. Death, especially when it is sudden, unexpected, or traumatic, can interrupt the natural progression and expectations of life so much so that those left grieving struggle to pick up their shattered worlds and piece them back together in a functional way. Recent research in the field of bereavement has unearthed the concept that grief is a gradual process of meaning-making as the griever attempts to restructure their world after the loss. Making meaning of the loss is a necessary part of processing grief and various cultural practices around the world have developed around this human need.

Many rituals, practices and endeavors have supported me to recreate meaning in my life after the loss of my son: my path toward becoming a therapist being one of these endeavors. This does not mean my grief is “healed” or in some way gone. To the contrary, these practices help me to process my grief throughout my life as my grief grows with me.

In my upcoming series of posts, I will explore different rituals, practices and cultural concepts which support grievers across the world to formulate a sense of meaning within the impermanence of life. Come along with me as we contemplate mono no aware and discover our human family’s ability to create meaning and find beauty in the brevity of life.

Sources:

1. What Do Cherry Blossoms Represent? https://www.jal.co.jp/my/en/guide-to-japan/experiences/cherry-blossom/what-do-cherry-blossoms-
   represent/index.html#:~:text=Fallen%20cherry%20blossoms%20or%20petals,cherry%20petals%20for%20the%20emperor.%E2%80%9D
2. Mono No Aware in Japanese Literature: https://osusumebooks.com/blogs/news/mono-no-aware-in-japanese-literature
3. Doran, G., & Downing Hansen, N. (2006). Constructions of Mexican American family grief after the death of a child: An exploratory study. Cultural Diversity and Ethnic Minority Psychology, 12(2), 199–211. https://doi-org.ezproxy.messiah.edu/10.1037/1099-9809.12.2.199
4. Pearlman, L. A., Wortman, C. B., Feuer, C. A., Farber, C. H., & Rando, T. A. (2014). Treating traumatic bereavement: A practitioner’s guide. The Guilford Press.

About the Author: As a mother of six sons, Lisa’s greatest joy in life is her family. Tragically, however, in 2002, she and her husband, Aaron, lost their fourth son Benjamin in an unexpected accident. From then on, Lisa experienced a long, painful struggle with post-traumatic stress disorder and deep grief. She was introduced to yoga as a daily practice to help her rest and reset her mind. After over 18 years of her personal growth as a student and a teacher of yoga, she continues to explore the relationship between spirituality, somatics and mental health. She is currently pursuing a master’s degree in clinical mental health counseling at Messiah University and is privileged to work with People House as an Affordable Counseling Intern. Upon licensure, she intends to combine her in-depth knowledge of spiritual practices, yoga, and meditation with clinical counseling techniques to offer holistic therapy to clients, focusing on grief, trauma and bereavement issues for parents.

He was known for often saying, “everything is possible”. While he was alive I would brush it off when he said it, likely trying to tease him; now I wish I hadn’t. After he died, everyone around me was quoting it and I found myself getting annoyed, then angry. When I stopped for a moment, I realized I was REALLY angry! But I was directing my anger in the wrong place… maybe I was trying to find a place for blame. When I started to look at my anger, I was shocked at intense it had grown. I remind myself, it’s just moments. All I need to focus on is getting through now. For someone who has had to work on anger, I know how tempting it can feel. But in my grief, I try to remember that no matter how hard a moment gets. If I lean into the belief that “everything is possible”, I give myself enough space to pry away from the anger and move just an inch closer to true acceptance. The progress is slow, but it’s moving.  

I have always struggled with grief, both professionally and personally. As a therapist, I worry I don’t have the right questions to ask or the perfect words to soothe my heartbroken client.

Now I’m seeing that it’s ok to not have the words, that sometimes there aren’t any, and the only way to assuage any loss is to hear the stories of those who grieve. Because that’s what’s been lost, a piece of their story, and one way we can stay close to those we love and lost, is to recall their story – never losing our shared narrative.

If there’s one thing that my grief is challenging, is my belief that vulnerability is a strength – because I don’t always feel so strong. Part of my interest in putting these thoughts to words is to lean into my vulnerability and hope others will learn to do the same. It’s a part of our never-ending quest for our meaning and purpose; to feel and move through. Truthfully, it’s cathartic and heart-wrenching. Both of those things can exist together… and both feel empowering. I hope we can all learn to gravitate towards the power of our stories and embrace the vulnerability of our losses. Because like my friend always said, “everything is possible”.

Samantha Camerino (she/her) is the owner of Nomad Therapy Services. She uses a “Person in Environment” approach, addressing not just the individual, but also exploring the environmental, societal and historical components that may be impacting self-growth. She has nearly a decade of experience working with persons struggling with an array of challenges such as depression, anxiety, anger, low self-esteem, trauma, et. al. Currently, Samantha conducts sessions in the office or online, and she also encourages ‘walk & talks’ and meeting in outdoor settings. If you are interested in learning more about the Nomad approach, visit her website at www.nomadtherapyservices.com or email her at samantha@nomadtherapyservices.com.

She lived a long and fulfilling life, centered on family, church & teaching. Her life was also one of great suffering, surviving childhood trauma and the loss of two children early in life. Mom was also a cancer survivor, and outlived my father by 15 years.

My mother was born into poverty in rural Pennsylvania, the daughter of Irish immigrants. Her own mother had crossed the Atlantic, alone, at age 16. She was sent for by family who had come earlier. I’ve tried to imagine the desperation that would drive a young girl to come to the US on her own, but it’s a challenge, since I have never wanted for anything. Mom saw to that.

Mom’s father was prone to anger & abuse, mostly toward her mother. She told me that her childhood was a lonely one, as she was an only child surrounded by adults. Mom said she confronted her father when she was 16, and told him he had to stop the abuse, and he did. She became fierce and protective.

She graduated high school at 16, college at 20, and went to work for Westinghouse as an engineer, toward the end of WW2. She was the only female on the staff, and she said her boss protected her from any harassment by her male colleagues, though she certainly could have defended herself. Westinghouse offered to pay for her Master’s degree in Engineering, but she declined, preferring to return home and teach high school mathematics.

My parents provided for us kids a life of structure & security. In fact, it was very rigid, with alarms going off at 5:30 am, dishes washed & dried before anyone left for school or work, and dinner at 5 pm every night. We dared not be late for dinner. I got straight A’s in school, and I think my brothers did, too. We would not have dared to bring home anything less.

As I grew into my preteen and teen age years, my relationship with Mom became one of conflict and disagreement. She was an unmovable force, unwilling to listen to or respect my budding thoughts and ideas. I became alienated and afraid, and after I left for college, I never lived at home again. I rebelled against everything she stood for, and that rebellion is still going on, in both conscious and unconscious ways and is a part of my ongoing work –to free myself of this reactivity and learn to just be myself.

I think my true grief began then, with the realization that I would never have an open and honest relationship with my mother. I have grieved this loss my entire life. It makes my loss of her even harder. There are no more chances to heal our relationship.

Mom & I did reach an accord, but the cost was high: We didn’t talk about deep things, making true intimacy impossible. We didn’t discuss religion or spirituality; politics was a minefield. She thought my child raising ideas were completely misguided, at best. All I could do was set limits, which she respected. So we had a relationship of love, at a distance. We could not accept each other’s truths. 

My attitude toward my mother began to shift when I became a parent myself, as happens for many of us. I began to really appreciate the stability she & Dad had provided. I also knew I didn’t want my children to grow up with the guilt, fear, and shame imposed on me by their strict religious beliefs. It has been one of my life’s challenges to unlearn these barriers to my inner truth and Self knowing.

Grief is a stealth bomber; it comes and goes, arriving when an idea or image reminds me of her, then receding for a time. I have kept her thick glasses, and they fill me with a sense of poignant sorrow, seeming to represent our shared human struggle to see. When grief arises, it often seems like it will overwhelm me with its intensity. The tears come in huge sobs, and I feel as though I’m being ripped in two. Other times, it is a deep sadness, sorrow driven by what we never had, and now, never will. 

Then, especially during meditation, I experience a sweet sense of peace and can feel the love of those who have passed before me, knowing they are “Out in that field beyond right doing and wrong doing” as Rumi calls it, where we can let go of needing to be right and instead, are one with the All That Is.

Faye Maguire, MA, LAC, is a People House private practitioner working with youth and adults, using a transpersonal approach to therapy. Counseling is her second career, after being a business owner for nearly 30 years. She enjoys working with people experiencing life transitions, grief and loss, depression, anxiety, trauma, addictions, relationship issues, and figuring out life’s direction, using a holistic approach. Please contact her at 720-331-2454 or at fayemaguire@gmail.com for more information.

After posting that blog, I reflected on the pain and difficult emotions that can arise when we find ourselves outside of our comfort zone. Sometimes we push ourselves into a place of the uncomfortable and, other times, we find ourselves there following or in the midst of a situation or event that is undesired and perhaps out of our control. This could be learning of an affair, a divorce, a trauma, a health crisis, loss of a job or a loved one, etc. And for the current situation living through a global pandemic. Whatever it is—and we’ve all experienced at least one event or situation in our lives that created significant discomfort—the emotions that arise when we feel stressed or scared are worth exploring. Emotions can serve as important messengers, if we pay attention to them. It’s hard to slow down in this world—especially so when we feel like we’re in the throes of crisis or dealing with the aftermath of a fire—but by taking a mindful moment to reflect on our emotions and explore what our emotions are trying to tell us, what can be an otherwise uncomfortable experience becomes an opportunity for discoveries, personal growth and even significant transformation. We can’t tell in the beginning what the transformation will be as it is a lived through experience. It is in looking back we can see the path of transformation.

Discovering The Beauty Beneath the Fire

A few weekends ago, my partner and I were up in Pike National Forest near Woodland Park in the Hayman Fire area in Colorado. The Hayman Fire of 2002 burned for more than 30 days and scorched to the ground 138,000 acres, causing $42 million losses in housing costs alone. This is a place that we’ve visited often, both pre and post fire, and as we cruised around on our ATVs I was struck by the devastation as well as the resilient rebounding of nature. The loss of mature old growth trees revealed the unique beauty of the landscape of the forest that had been unexposed before the fire. I was able to witness what I fondly call ‘The Baby Forest’ returning to life with a thriving diversity of plants, flowers, shrubs and trees that could not fully develop when the old forest overshadowed the floor before the Hayman Fire. I could see rocks, cliffs and other amazing features in the overall landscape, which are usually hidden. You can notice them in the photos I took of the area. Also notice the ‘Baby Forest’ filling in the scorched land. When life is going along in an automatic routine in usual fashion, we generally do not notice the underlying features of who we are as unique individuals with a unique history. Sometimes it takes a fire of some sort to bring both new things and the long overshadowed to the surface.

All this got me thinking about how we all experience fires in our lives—whether we started them ourselves or they were lit up by another. When dealing with a forest fire in our own lives, it can be hard to see the forest through the trees or see the fire as an opportunity to experience or grow something different. But, there can be beauty and eventual growth in the wake of any destruction. And, when we feel into our emotions, seeking messages and learning from a painful experience, what we rebuild is oftentimes more fulfilling than what was there before. One thing is for sure, however. When a forest fire sweeps across the landscape of your life causing devastation, something new will happen. Today we are trying to put the forest fire out across the globe. We are and will create something new.

On this note, I asked a forest ranger we met on our ride about the fire and what has occurred in the ecosystem and environment since Hayman Fire. The ranger said that, in a way, the fire was actually good for the area. A balance of flora and fauna was restored. Plants once overshadowed by the looming trees now had a chance to thrive, which was improving the vitality of wildlife, particularly the deer, in the area. We saw an abundance of wildlife on our excursions through the burn area. While initially scary and even devastating, there can be beauty, growth and opportunity to be found beneath or in the wake of any fire—mental, emotional or physical. It can be challenging, but it boils down to a matter of taking the time, however long or short, to sit with the pain compassionately and then seek the wisdom that resides within the experience. Letting yourself recover with a sense of curiosity and knowing a new ‘Baby Forest’ will spring forth within you that holds lessons valuable to your life.

The Beauty of Change 

I invite you to think back on one of the forest fires of your life. You’re in the midst of one now, think back to a previous one—we all usually have a few. Remember, it may have been that you felt you wanted to quit when the pain felt too heavy and hard to bear. And, like many humans before and among you, you may have fought the pain, not realizing that fighting pain just increases the intensity of it. What we resist persists, and that is certainly true of pain. Allow yourself room to experience the present with whatever might show up be it fear, anxiety, anger and even numbness. Today it feels surreal to me. I am curious and impatient like a teenager. 

However, when we recognize that everything is impermanent—the fire you were thinking about eventually went out, right?—including your pain, it becomes more endurable. And, there is strength and security of self to be discovered when we’re in the throes of a fire. Think about where you are today versus where you were when a particularly devastating fire ignited in your life. Do you feel stronger knowing that you got through it? Did you develop increased trust in your ability to navigate a challenging situation, walk through the fire and come out the other side?

The secret to happiness isn’t the absence of pain or thinking you’re skilled in the art of avoiding it. Rather, it’s learning to embrace change and to lean into and accept pain and other emotions as part of your life experience. It’s also about seeing in hindsight that you have proved yourself capable, even if you fell apart some (we all do and that’s totally okay). But, you got where you are today through these experiences and tomorrow you will probably learn something new about yourself and the world. And, by accepting that what you know and experience today will change and then change again tomorrow, you’re able to embark on a path to greater fulfillment—even if it sometimes includes the pain that comes with stepping (or being pushed) out of what you think you know…today.

Embrace Change and Create Something New

It’s human nature to resist change, although it’s the only thing in this world that we can 100 percent count on. What would you like to let go of and change today? How has something devastating, like a forest fire, ended up becoming a gift in your life? How can you tap into the beauty of change and nurture something new? And, if you need a little more inspiration, check out 21 Insightful Quotes On Embracing Change from success.com, with quotes from people like Henry Ford, JFK, Bill Clinton and Lao Tzu.

About the Author: Brenda Bomgardner is in her encore career. One of her greatest joys is seeing people move beyond life’s roadblocks toward a fulfilling and meaningful life. She believes each person has a purpose in life waiting to be realized that evolves over a lifetime. And the path to reaching life’s purpose is as unique as each individual. We all have dreams. Step by step she will walk with you on uncovering how to bring your dreams to fruition.  Brenda is a counselor, coach and clinical supervisor specializing in practicing Acceptance and Commitment Therapy/Training (ACT) which is a cutting edge evidenced-based processes. This means there is scientific research proven to show ACT works. Before becoming a therapist, she completed a successful 17-year career in Human Resources at a Fortune 500 company. On a personal note she loves the great outdoors, ATV riding, adventure travel and family. To learn more about Brenda visit her About Me page.