The news of the Kelowna fires hit home when my girlfriend shared the video of what remained of her house. Nothing. Everything she had worked for went up in flames and melted into a pile of ashes. Even the boat was destroyed.  The only thing that survived was the stone chimney. And poignantly a metal wagon she used to carry wood and such around the lot. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason as to why the fire took certain things and left others untouched.

Of course, my friend is devastated. We talked about the lack of time to save anything. How her mother’s paintings were inside and her other sentimental pieces that are no longer here. She talked about how they were safe until they were not and rushed away watching the fires leap across the road to their area.  She talked about her hope that some miracle would stop the fire from taking all that she loved. We cried and she started to assure me that my grief was greater; no one was hurt or killed in her situation, and I stopped her there. Grief is grief. Loss is loss. Something did die; her beloved possessions and her home that contained decades of memories and happy times with family and friends. This is loss.  Great loss.

With all the losses I have in my life, I have come to realize that each person holds their losses relative to the relationship they had with that person, place, animal, or thing. The depths of love and the pain of grief are the common denominator amongst those who mourn. What or whom you are grieving is a personal detail. I could feel the angst and the anger within my friend as the reality of what had just happened was hitting her. “I will never go back”, she said.

That statement reminded me of my first moments after Zane was killed. “It will never be ok”, I said. I understood what my friend meant by her statement. There is no going back. What she had built over the years in that home, the contents both physical and emotional died with the raging fire. To go back is not possible. It will never be the same and that is not ok. I hugged her.  It was not the time to say that she may change her mind and that maybe there will come a day that she has less anger and more strength and might want to rebuild. But not today.

I focused on the irony of the little wagon that survived.  It shouldn’t have. And yet it did.  Why? A wagon, its purpose is to be filled with things needed or wanted to move from one point to another. It can be used as a tool to take a child or pet for a ride. Its wheels ready to roll in whatever direction you want to go. Small and compact, open aired, a favorite piece of most childhoods. Perhaps it survived as a symbolic gesture for my friend. The Universe gently whispering that there is space for love and hope to help her move away from this terrible disaster to a place where new beginnings await. I think the little wagon might represent tomorrow.

When grief is so fresh, we can miss signs that assure us we will survive. Naturally we are not ok. We can’t see or think or feel past the gut-wrenching despair inexplainable grief brings. That is where my friend is standing right now. I ache for her, knowing that spot all too well. So, for the moment, I will be her eyes to see hope and symbolic concepts that quietly suggest she has not been abandoned by some evil twist of nature but rather held by a universal compassion that understands she is not ok.  Healing can wait until she is ready to pack up her little wagon and move onward.