It was fifteen years ago (October 19, 2015) at Kennedy Lake, BC, that two of my colleagues and friends lost their lives in the line of duty. They were on their way back to the station and never arrived. I remember that day vividly. The call from dispatch about two missing members, the search, the recovery, and the sacred honour of helping organize their Line of Duty Celebration of Life.

For years afterward, especially on the anniversary date, I’d catch myself thinking, “Why does this still affect me so much? It’s been so long.” I believed that if I truly moved on, I’d somehow be letting them go — that the depth of my grief was proof of how much I cared.

But over time, something quieter and wiser began to show me a different truth.

---

Grief Isn’t Proof of Love — Love Is Proof of Love

We often mistake our pain for love, thinking that to stop feeling sad is to stop caring. But grief doesn’t measure the depth of love; it simply reminds us that our hearts were touched.

Feeling sadness doesn’t mean we’re broken — it means we’re alive. It means everything inside us is working exactly as it should.

This past year, I’ve reflected deeply as we’ve lost several responders across Canada. Each passing seems to awaken the same ache — and yet, within it, I can also sense something new: A tenderness that isn’t pain, but love in another form.

When I say “I am not sad” — it’s not denial. It’s a realization.
I experience sadness, yes, but I am not sadness itself. Just as clouds move through the sky, feelings move through us. They don’t define who we are.

---

Seeing Something Fresh About Grief

Grief can feel heavy when we mistake it for something permanent — when we believe we’ll always feel this way. But every feeling has a life cycle, a natural rhythm. It arises, peaks, and fades. It doesn’t need to be managed, fixed, or overcome.

The moment we stop wrestling with our grief, we create the space for something new to appear — and often, what arises is love.
A softer kind of love. One that remembers without hurting.

Healing, I’ve come to see, isn’t about forgetting. It’s about remembering differently.

---

A Quiet Hope

If you’ve been walking with grief for a long time, please know this: nothing about you is broken. You’re not stuck because something’s wrong; you’re simply caught in the natural ebb and flow of being human.

Your capacity to feel deeply is not your weakness — it’s your proof of life.
And when you let love hold the memory instead of pain, something remarkable happens: the sadness begins to loosen its grip, and peace quietly returns.

---

Today, I honour my friends from Kennedy Lake and all those we’ve lost in the service of others. I also honour the living — those who carry memories heavy with love, wondering if they’ll ever feel whole again.

You will. You already are.
Because grief isn’t a sign that something’s wrong. It’s a reminder that love still lives here.

If this reflection touched you or offered a moment of comfort, please share it. Someone else might need the reminder that healing begins when we start holding memories with love, not pain.

With much love,

Can’t end a post without a couple of videos to complement the words.

This powerful ballad touches on the pain of loss and the tender recognition that love remains even when someone is gone.

From a scientific point of view, this talk by Dr. Mary-Frances O’Connor explores what happens in the brain and body during grief — how yearning and attachment play out, and how one can move through loss while deeply honouring the person who’s gone.