Note: this transcript has been edited for clarity, grammar, and flow.

Louisa Smith: Griefline acknowledges the Australian Aboriginal people as the First Peoples and Traditional Custodians of the land and water on which we live, work, and depend. We pay respect to Aboriginal Elders past and present. We honour their care for the country over tens of thousands of years and acknowledge the spiritual and cultural connection to land, water, and all that is in the environment. We recognise their deep connection to and aspirations for Country.

Louisa Smith: Life After Loss is a podcast brought to you by Griefline, which has been supporting people in the community experiencing grief and loss for 35 years. Over that time, tens of thousands of people have reached out to us for support via our helpline, forums, and social platforms. Each one of them has a unique story, just like their grief. The one thing that unites them is the need for connection and understanding—someone to listen and validate their grief.

Amanda Peppard: This podcast gives us the opportunity to reach out to people with lived experiences of grief and to share their courageous conversations with you. It won't fix the grief or take away the loss, but it will help normalise the experience, encourage questions, inform, challenge, and discover tangible ways to cope. Most of all, it’s an opportunity to explore how we can grow around grief and find meaning.

Louisa Smith: Our first series focuses on natural disasters—bushfires, droughts, floods—catastrophic events that are recurring and increasing in intensity, leaving visible destruction. But we will focus on the unseen devastation: the broken hearts and minds of the people left in its wake.

Amanda Peppard: By sharing the stories of survivors, we witness their grief and learn how they’ve found ways to live each day, perhaps finding a new purpose, rediscovering hope, or making meaning from their experience. Ultimately, it’s about finding life after loss.

A quick trigger warning: Life After Loss explores real-life experiences of grief, loss, and trauma. We also discuss some of Australia's worst natural disasters and their effects on people and the environment. If you find these topics distressing, make an assessment about whether you feel supported to continue listening. And remember, the Griefline helpline is available seven days a week from 6:00 AM to midnight. You can also join our online community forums or tap into our resource hub for helpful information. Visit www.griefline.org.au (http://www.griefline.org.au).

Louisa Smith: Each episode of the Life After Loss podcast is released to mark the anniversary of a devastating event in our history.

Amanda Peppard: Anniversaries are man-made symbols that remind us of loss—the loss of loved ones or something treasured. They mark the passage of time and offer a space for remembrance.

Louisa Smith: Perhaps they also signal the beginning of a difficult journey or a period of great opportunity.

Amanda Peppard: By recognising the anniversaries of these important dates in our history, we honour what was lost and extend our support to those left behind.

Katherine Boland: There was horror—intense horror—knowing what was happening to the animals. For me, the animals were the most disturbing emotion.

Jenifer James: It was the sheer power and rage of the loss of life. So much life lost—the birds, insects, animals—all caught up in the madness. It wasn’t their doing.

Louisa Smith: The Black Summer bushfires were unlike any previous fire event to hit Australia, impacting communities across NSW, Victoria, Queensland, ACT, WA, and SA. The total area burnt was the largest in a single recorded fire season for Eastern Australia. These fires burned for months, raising an estimated 17 million hectares and destroying over 3,000 homes. The official death toll reached 33, including nine firefighters, and an additional 450 people later died from smoke inhalation. Extensive areas of Australia's World Heritage land were devastated, with over 3 billion animals lost, including an estimated 143 million mammals, 2.46 billion reptiles, 180 million birds, and 51 million frogs.

Louisa Smith: So here we are, Amanda. It’s the 31st of December, and I can share with you the data is in: over 80,000 people across Australia reached out to Griefline for support in 2021. This highlights the huge number of people who are walking amongst us, experiencing grief and loss.

Amanda Peppard: Yeah, it’s a staggering number, isn’t it?

Louisa Smith: It is. And what it tells us is that many people are suppressing their suffering. People reach out to Griefline because they feel they don’t want to be a burden on the people in their lives.

Amanda Peppard: Yeah, and not all of them have lost a loved one. Grief is a response to loss in many different forms. While some are grieving the loss of someone dear to them, or perhaps a beloved pet, others are grieving for the loss of their home, their livelihood, or their community. Perhaps the loss of a relationship or the life they knew before COVID. There’s even a loss of identity.

Louisa Smith: Exactly.

Amanda Peppard: So, in this episode, we’re exploring a type of grief that’s impacting more and more of us every day as we witness the devastation of climate change. It’s called climate grief, or sometimes ecological grief. It’s experienced as a type of disenfranchised grief because people don’t feel safe to express what they’re going through, especially if others around them are mourning loved ones, homes, pets, or livelihoods. But the grief is real.

Louise, for our first episode of Life After Loss, we’re honoured to feature world-renowned grief expert David Kessler, whose understanding of disaster scenarios comes both from lived experience and from working on the ground as part of the Red Cross’s Disaster Services team in the US.

David Kessler: You know, we’re not talking about having a broken mind here. We’re talking about having a broken heart. And your heart can be broken through a death, through a relationship ending, through a home being destroyed, or through part of nature that you loved being destroyed. So many things can be those changes we didn’t want.

Amanda Peppard: Our first guest is Katherine Boland, a prize-winning artist who lives on the southeast coast of Australia, an area ravaged by the Black Summer bushfires. Katherine’s remarkable life is far too dense to tell in one episode of a podcast, though she’s managed to capture much of it in her memoir Hippie Days, Arabian Nights, including the story of how she dropped out of art school in the mid-70s to become, as she describes it, a “hippie,” living with her then-husband and raising a child on 122 hectares of virgin bushland not far from where she lives now.

Katherine Boland: I was actually shearing sheep to get the wool to spin on my spinning wheel, which I then dyed with walnut shells or mulberry fruit or whatever I could find. I’d take that spun wool and weave material on a loom to make our clothes. You can imagine what my husband and I, John, looked like when we went into Bega for our fortnightly supplies—dressed up in homemade, handwoven clothes, with bits of wood or shells for buttons. John had a plait down to his waist.

Amanda Peppard: Katherine’s passion for sourcing raw materials from the local environment has remained constant, even during her artist residencies in Italy, France, Egypt, and upstate New York. But when a fatal fire marked the end of her 27-year marriage, she decided to make art about fire itself, subjecting materials to the transformative power of blowtorch flame. When the fires of the 2020 Black Summer hit her hometown, so did the realisation that humans are no match for Mother Nature’s revenge. In the aftermath of the fires, she was selected to participate in Output: Art After Fire. One of her works, depicting a firefighter’s jacket, was selected for a digital art competition held at the United Nations COP Conference in Glasgow. Katherine also has a graduate diploma in Therapeutic Arts Practice from the Melbourne Institute of Experiential and Creative Art Therapies. She has since run several writing workshops for bushfire-affected communities in her region.

Hi, Katherine, and welcome to Life After Loss. We’re thrilled to have you here on the podcast. You’ve written about the day of intense burning close to Merimbula. Can you describe what that day was like?

Katherine Boland: So, we evacuated to a hotel in the middle of Merimbula, something surrounded by concrete, bricks, and bitumen—no vegetation whatsoever. My mum had just come out of hospital after treatment for a punctured lung. We managed to get the last hotel room available. As we looked out the window, the sky had been orange all day, but at about 4:00 PM, it started turning blood red. By 5:00 PM, it was pitch black. That was absolutely terrifying. Smoke was coming under the door. My mum was in bed with a CPAP machine on. Our eyes were streaming from the smoke. It was a mix of so many emotions—at one point, we became hysterical. I was walking around in my underwear with a singlet on, eating cornflakes out of the box, and we were laughing and joking. It was this bizarre mix of horror and hysterics. I’ve never experienced anything like it. Even though we were surrounded by concrete and bricks, we were still terrified, fearing for our lives.

There was horror, intense horror, knowing what was happening out there to the animals. For me, the animals were the most disturbing part. Knowing what was happening to them was so horrible.

Amanda Peppard: What happened in the days and weeks that followed?

Katherine Boland: Well, that day was the 4th of January, but by the first week of February, the fires were still burning. We had three fire fronts on three sides, moving towards Merimbula. I remember we were all just focused on the fire maps, checking which way the wind was blowing and where the fire was heading. At that stage, someone coined the term “forever fires,” because it felt like they had been burning forever and would never stop until they’d burned everything.

Amanda Peppard: How did people in your community express their grief? How did it look different for those who had experienced different types of loss?

Katherine Boland: I was fortunate to get out into the community and talk to people about their grief. I was invited by the Bega Valley Regional Library to run a series of writing workshops; and I designed a program called, Where There’s Smoke: Stories from the Ashes. What resonated with me was people’s entitlement—or lack of entitlement—to feel grief. Some people in the workshops had lost their homes. Others, like me, hadn’t lost anything physical, but still felt a deep sense of loss. It wasn’t survivor guilt exactly, but a feeling like we didn’t have the right to grieve because we hadn’t lost something tangible. It was like we were imposters in our own grief.

Louisa Smith: So, because it wasn’t something you physically owned, there was this idea that your grief wasn’t comparable to others who had lost homes or loved ones. Even though your connection to the land and the environment was profound, people might argue that it makes the experience even harder to process.

Katherine Boland: Yes, it felt like if I tried to express my grief, it would come off as virtue signalling, like I had no right to talk about my feelings because my suffering was so little compared to others.

Louisa Smith: That must have been such a complex emotional space to navigate.

Katherine Boland: It really was. And I think that’s where the workshops came in—it gave people, including myself, a space to acknowledge their grief, whether they had lost something physical or not. It was about recognising that grief manifests in so many different ways and that we all have a right to feel it, regardless of what we’ve lost.

Amanda Peppard: I think that’s so important—acknowledging that grief isn’t just tied to physical losses. As you mentioned earlier, climate grief or ecological grief is a very real thing. And in a sense, it’s a disenfranchised grief because people don’t always feel safe or validated in expressing it, especially when there are others grieving the loss of loved ones, homes, or livelihoods.

Katherine Boland: Exactly. And that’s something I really tried to explore through my art. After the bushfires, I was invited to participate in a project called Output: Art After Fire, which was funded by the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. It supported artists on the southeast coast of NSW and the American West, who had been affected by bushfires, to create works about their experiences. That project opened a floodgate for me—I realised I had so much to say about the fires that I couldn’t articulate verbally. My art became a way of processing everything. It’s now become my life’s work.

Louisa Smith: That’s so powerful. I’ve seen some of your pieces, and they don’t need captions. They speak deeply and evoke such strong emotions. You can really feel the devastation and loss just by looking at them.

Katherine Boland: Thank you. That’s exactly what I aim for. I realised that as an artist, I have a responsibility to raise awareness about climate change. Art works on an emotional level. It connects, engages, and inspires in ways that data and statistics sometimes can’t. So if I can use my art to raise awareness, that’s what I want to do.

Jenifer James: I completely understand that. After the fires, I threw myself into coordinating a wildlife feeding and watering program. It gave me a sense of purpose. We were trying to keep what little wildlife was left alive. I coordinated around 70 volunteers, many of them elderly or disabled, to help with this effort. It was about doing something tangible, something that made a difference in the aftermath of so much destruction.

Louisa Smith: That’s extraordinary, Jenifer. You’ve mentioned before that you didn’t have a background in environmental work prior to the fires, but this experience seems to have ignited a whole new path for you.

Jenifer James: Yes, absolutely. Before the fires, I was a nurse educator working in palliative care, completely focused on humans and their wellbeing. I knew very little about the environment. But the fires changed everything. Suddenly, I found myself coordinating a team of volunteers, learning about what wildlife could and couldn’t eat, and working out how to sustain the animals that had survived. It became my life’s focus.

Amanda Peppard: Can you tell us about that day—the 31st of December—when the fires hit Bermagui? What was that like for you?

Jenifer James: That was the day I realised that something catastrophic was happening. I had been in a very professional mode up until that point—focused on what needed to be done, making plans, and organising things. But that day, the reality hit me. There were cars leaving quickly, people loading up pets and making split-second decisions about what to take and what to leave behind. It was chaos.

Louisa Smith: I can’t imagine the pressure of making those kinds of choices in such a short amount of time.

Jenifer James: It was a strange time. People were choosing to leave behind their belongings and just save their pets. It made me angry at the time, seeing people abandon their homes with everything left behind. But looking back now, I understand. People were scared. They were just doing what they could to survive.

Amanda Peppard: And after the fires, you started the wildlife feeding program. That must have been a huge undertaking.

Jenifer James: It really was. We had no money, no resources at the beginning. But the generosity of the community was incredible. People donated food and water, and we set up feeding stations throughout the bushland. Volunteers would name their feeding sites and take ownership of them. It gave people a way to deal with their own grief, and it was amazing to see how passionate they became about it. One woman even decorated her feeding station, turning it into something beautiful amidst all the devastation.

Louisa Smith: That’s such a beautiful image, finding pockets of beauty in the midst of so much destruction. And I think it speaks to the resilience of communities—finding ways to keep going, even when hope feels distant.

Jenifer James: Yes, exactly. And that’s something we still wrestle with—hope. We struggle with the concept of hope because we’ve seen firsthand how fragile life is. There’s always this sense of uncertainty, like we’re living day by day, not knowing what tomorrow will bring. But I think that makes us more present, more aware of the small things—like the return of birds, or the sight of an ant crawling out of the scorched earth. Every small sign of life feels like a miracle.

Louisa Smith: It’s almost like a shift in perspective—a focus on the present, on what we can do now, rather than worrying too much about the future.

Jenifer James: That’s right. It’s a survival mechanism. We know there will be more fires, more challenges ahead. But for now, we focus on what we can do today. We plant fire-resistant trees, we try to prepare the landscape for the next time. We’re not hopeless, but we are wary. There’s a difference.

Amanda Peppard: It’s an emotional shift, isn’t it? It’s like you’re rebuilding not just the landscape, but your whole way of thinking about life and the future.

Jenifer James: Yes, and it’s hard, especially for those of us with children or grandchildren. It’s difficult to think about the world they’ll inherit. But we take it one day at a time. That’s all we can do.

Amanda Peppard: When you talk about rebuilding and focusing on the present, it reminds me of something David Kessler said about meaning. He talks about how meaning isn’t found in the tragedy itself, but in what we do after it. How we respond, how we make sense of what has happened, and how we move forward.

David Kessler: Exactly. We often think of meaning as something that has to be found within the loss itself, but that’s not the case. The meaning comes from what we do after the event—how we honour the loss, how we rebuild our lives, and how we carry the memories of what was lost. When we face tragedies like these fires or the loss of a loved one, we’re forced to find meaning in ways we might never have imagined. It’s not about forgetting or moving on; it’s about finding a way to live with the loss and continue living.

Amanda Peppard: That really resonates, especially when we talk about climate grief. People are mourning not just what they’ve lost personally, but the broader loss of ecosystems, the destruction of the environment, and the uncertainty of the future. It’s a collective grief, but also a very personal one.

David Kessler: Absolutely. And it’s important to remember that grief is not a competition. There’s no "right" kind of grief or "wrong" kind of grief. People often compare their grief, thinking, “I didn’t lose as much as they did, so my grief doesn’t matter.” But grief is grief. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s valid. Your job is to feel it, not compare it.

Jenifer James: That’s such an important point. I’ve seen that in the wildlife feeding program, where people who didn’t lose homes or loved ones still felt a deep sense of loss. Some people struggled with expressing their grief because they felt it wasn’t as significant as others’. But grief isn’t something that can be measured or compared. It’s personal.

Louisa Smith: And that’s part of what we’re doing here with this podcast—validating all types of grief, allowing space for people to feel and express what they’re going through without judgement. Everyone’s grief experience is unique, but we all have the need to be seen and heard.

Amanda Peppard: That’s right. And as David said earlier, we want to make sure people know they’re not alone in their grief. We’re here to witness it and support them through it.

David Kessler: Grief is a journey that doesn’t have a clear endpoint. It’s not about getting over it; it’s about learning to live with it and finding ways to honour the loss. Whether that’s through art, activism, or just taking it one day at a time, it’s all about finding meaning in the aftermath.

Louisa Smith: That’s such a powerful message. And I think it’s something we’ve seen in both Katherine and Jenifer’s stories—how they’ve each found their own way of processing and making sense of their grief.

Amanda Peppard: Absolutely. For Katherine, it’s through her art—creating work that raises awareness about climate change and speaks to the emotional impact of the fires. And for Jenifer, it’s through her dedication to protecting wildlife and creating a more fire-resistant landscape. Both of them are finding meaning in their own way.

Louisa Smith: Speaking of finding meaning, I’d like to shift focus for a moment to Noel Butler. Noel is a Budawang Elder from the Yuin Nation, and he and his wife lost their home and the Aboriginal Culture Centre they had founded to the bushfires. Filmmaker Andrew Kaineder made a short film called Mourning Country about Noel’s experience, and it’s such a moving reflection on loss and resilience.

Noel Butler: In this country, from these fires, we have lost millions of our animals. When you think that our fauna and flora in this land is unique to the world, it may never be replaced to the extent that it was. That’s the incredible loss—the destructive loss. Fire is your friend, not to be feared. The fire is needed. Australia is designed to burn, and it’s been burnt for 100,000 years by the different people in the different areas. Not on a huge scale like we’ve seen, but in small patches. We need fire to crack the hard seeds of many of our plants to regenerate the land. But there’s a process to it—you need to know all the living things in that area and do a slow, cool burn that only takes the debris off the ground.

Louisa Smith: Noel’s approach to fire management is such an important message, especially in light of what we’ve been through with the Black Summer bushfires. There’s a lot we can learn from Indigenous knowledge and practices when it comes to managing the land and preventing these catastrophic events.

Noel Butler: That’s right. We say, bugia naway gabun buridja, which in my language means “Learn today about yesterday for a better tomorrow.” I think we can learn a lot from this experience. As bad as it was, it’s not about blame—it’s about recognition and acceptance that what has happened is not the right way. We need to try to help Mother Earth heal, and in doing so, we can heal ourselves.

Louisa Smith: That’s such a beautiful sentiment. And it’s something we’re seeing with the people we’ve spoken to for this podcast—they’re finding ways to heal, to rebuild, and to honour what was lost.

Amanda Peppard: Yes, and we’re so grateful to Andrew, the filmmaker, for allowing us to share excerpts from his film Mourning Country. There’s a link to it on our website if listeners want to watch the full film—it’s incredibly moving.

Louisa Smith: It truly is. And it perfectly captures the themes we’ve been exploring in this podcast—the resilience of communities, the connection to the land, and the process of finding meaning in the face of loss.

Jenifer James: It’s never going to be the same forest. It’s completely gone. Some areas were so intensely burned that I don’t know if they will ever recover. It’s like scorched earth—nothing is growing. In some areas, there’s no sign of green returning. And after the fires, there was this eerie silence. No birdsong. No life.

Louisa Smith: I can’t imagine how devastating that must have been. To lose not just the trees and the landscape, but the very life that made it what it was.

Jenifer James: Yes, it was heartbreaking. Someone called them “toothbrush trees” because the fires burned them into these shapes that looked like toothbrushes. It became a sort of morbid tourist attraction. People came to see the toothbrush trees, and it made us so angry. It felt like everything we’d loved was reduced to a curiosity for people passing through.

Louisa Smith: You’d lost what made the place home for you, and now it was being reduced to a spectacle.

Jenifer James: Exactly. It wasn’t the place we’d known anymore. It was like everything had been stripped away, leaving behind this scarred, empty landscape.

Louisa Smith: How has the community changed since then? How are people coping now?

Jenifer James: We’re all different. There’s a sense of shared experience—we recognise each other, we know what we’ve been through. But there’s also this wariness. We don’t talk about hope in the same way we used to. Hope feels more fragile now. Instead, we focus on the present, on what we can do today. We’re rebuilding, but we know there will be more fires. We’re just trying to be as prepared as we can be.

Jenifer James: We’re rebuilding, but there’s always this underlying fear. Many people are still living in temporary housing, in tents, or with friends. We’re also trying to replant and create a more fire-resistant landscape, using trees and plants that might slow down another fire. But deep down, we all know there will be another fire, and that’s a hard reality to face.

Louisa Smith: It sounds like there’s this mix of resilience and fragility in the community—a willingness to rebuild but also an awareness that it could all happen again.

Jenifer James: Yes, it’s a strange feeling. We’re not hopeless, but we’re living with a constant sense of uncertainty. We’ve become very aware of the small things. When it rains, we cherish it. When we see insects, birds, or any sign of life returning, it feels like a miracle. I’ve stopped weeding my garden because every flower that blooms means more insects, more life. We’re all a bit like that now. We notice everything. We live in the moment, but we’re always wary of what could come next.

Louisa Smith: That’s such a powerful shift in perspective—finding joy in the small, everyday things, even in the midst of uncertainty.

Jenifer James: Yes, and I think that’s what keeps us going. We’re living more in the present because thinking too much about the future feels overwhelming. But we’re not defeated. We’re just living differently, more cautiously, more in tune with what’s around us.

Amanda Peppard: It’s incredible how you’ve found this way of being, of staying connected to the land, even after everything that’s happened. It’s almost like you’ve developed a new relationship with the environment, one that’s rooted in both grief and gratitude.

Jenifer James: That’s exactly it. We’re sad, but we’re also more grateful for what’s still here. And we’re trying to protect it for as long as we can. We know we’re not invincible, and the land isn’t invincible either, but we’re doing what we can to nurture what’s left.

Louisa Smith: I think that’s something a lot of people are striving for these days—being present in the moment, more mindful of the world around them. But for you and your community, it’s come through such tragic circumstances.

Jenifer James: Yes, it’s been a hard lesson to learn, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But it’s changed the way we live, and maybe that’s something we needed. The fires have made us more aware of how fragile everything is. And while that’s terrifying, it’s also made us appreciate what we have right now. Every small sign of life feels like a gift.

Amanda Peppard: I’m curious about the next generation. You mentioned earlier that you have a grandchild in Hong Kong. How do you think about the world they’re inheriting?

Jenifer James: That’s one of the hardest things. It’s difficult to think about the future for the next generation, knowing what we’ve been through and what they might face. A lot of us here struggle with that. I was talking to an older man in the community who has great-grandchildren, and he told me he can’t think about the future. He just loves them for who they are now, in the moment. That’s all he can do. And I think many of us feel the same. It’s too overwhelming to think about the long-term future, so we focus on the present.

Louisa Smith: It sounds like there’s been a real shift in how people view time—not just in terms of day-to-day survival, but in how they think about the future and what’s coming next.

Jenifer James: Yes, definitely. We’re all much more focused on the here and now. The future feels so uncertain, and that can be paralysing. But we’re learning to live with that uncertainty, to accept that we can’t control everything. We do what we can to protect the land, to rebuild, but we also know that there’s always the possibility of another disaster. So we don’t take anything for granted anymore.

Amanda Peppard: It’s a devastating shift in perspective, but at the same time, it’s inspiring how you and the community have adapted and found new ways to live.

Jenifer James: Yes, it’s a constant balancing act. We’ve been through so much, and we’re still grieving, but we’re also finding ways to keep going. For me, it’s about reinvention. After the fires, I knew I could never go back to nursing. I’ve completely shifted my focus to the environment—learning about fire-resistant plants, soil health, and how we can preserve wildlife. That’s what gives me strength now.

Louisa Smith: Reinvention is such a powerful concept—finding new ways to live and make meaning after such a life-altering experience.

Jenifer James: Yes, I’ve learned so much, especially about the interconnectedness of everything—plants, animals, insects. If preserving that is all I can do now, then that’s what I’m going to do. It gives me purpose and keeps me grounded in the present.

Katherine Boland: I think with the pandemic and everything happening in the world, especially with climate change, it’s been a continual sense of despair and horror. It feels like it’s never-ending. I don’t think I’ve come out the other end yet.

Louisa Smith: How do you cope with that feeling?

Katherine Boland: My art has played a huge part. After the bushfires, I was invited to participate in a project called Output: Art After Fire, which allowed me to create a body of work about my bushfire experiences. It opened up so much for me—I didn’t realise how much I had to say until I started creating. It’s become my life’s work now. I feel a responsibility as an artist to raise awareness about climate change. Art works on an emotional level, and it can engage and inspire people in ways that facts and data can’t. That’s where I’ve found my meaning.

Louisa Smith: Your art is incredibly evocative. I had the privilege of looking at some of your pieces recently, and they don’t need words. You look at them and feel something deeply—about the people, the environment, and the experiences you’re portraying.

Jenifer James: That’s the beauty of art. It can communicate things that are hard to put into words. And in a way, it helps us process our own grief by making it visible, by giving it form.

Louisa Smith: That’s exactly what I felt when I looked at Katherine’s work—it was like the grief and the devastation were palpable, and you couldn’t help but feel it. It’s such an important way to communicate the emotional impact of these events, especially when people who weren’t there might not fully understand what it was like.

Jenifer James: Yes, and for people who have experienced it firsthand, it can be validating to see their feelings expressed in such a powerful way. It’s a way of saying, “Yes, this is real, and your grief is real.”

Louisa Smith: Absolutely. That’s part of what we’re trying to do with this podcast—create a space for people to express their grief, in whatever form it takes. Whether it’s through art, through action, or just through conversation, it’s all valid.

Amanda Peppard: And speaking of validation, I want to return to something David Kessler said earlier about witnessing grief. It’s so important that people feel seen in their grief—that their loss is acknowledged and respected.

David Kessler: Exactly. We all have this need to be seen, to be heard, and to know that our grief matters. When someone is grieving, they’re not looking for someone to fix it or make it better. They just want someone to listen, to witness their pain, and to say, “I see you. Your loss matters.”

Louisa Smith: That’s such a simple yet profound concept—just the act of witnessing someone’s grief can be incredibly powerful.

David Kessler: It really is. We have these neurons in our brains, called mirror neurons, that cause us to reflect the emotions of those around us. You see it with babies—they mirror the expressions of the adults around them. If the adult smiles, the baby smiles. If the adult frowns, the baby gets worried. It’s the same with grief. When we see someone’s grief, when we acknowledge it, we’re validating their experience. It’s a natural human instinct, and it’s so important in the grieving process.

Louisa Smith: That’s such an important reminder—that sometimes, the best thing we can do is simply listen and acknowledge someone’s grief without trying to fix it.

Amanda Peppard: Yes, and I think that’s what we’re trying to do with this podcast—give people a platform to share their stories and be heard. We’re not here to provide solutions, but to create a space where people feel seen and supported in their grief.

Louisa Smith: And I think we’ve seen that in the stories we’ve shared today—from Katherine’s art, to Jenifer’s wildlife program, to Noel’s cultural perspective. Everyone’s grief is different, but the need to be heard and validated is universal.

David Kessler: Exactly. There’s no one “right” way to grieve, and no one “right” kind of grief. But the one thing all grief has in common is the need to be witnessed.

Louisa Smith: That’s a beautiful message to end on. Thank you so much, David, for sharing your insights with us today. And thank you to Katherine and Jenifer for sharing your incredible stories of resilience, loss, and finding meaning after the Black Summer bushfires.

Amanda Peppard: Yes, we’re so grateful for your courage in sharing these stories with us. And we’d also like to thank Andrew Kaineder for allowing us to share excerpts from his film Mourning Country, and to Indigenous Elder Noel Butler for his wisdom and perspective on the bushfire disaster.

Louisa Smith: We’ll be linking to Andrew’s film on our website, so if you’re interested in seeing more of Noel’s story, I highly recommend watching Mourning Country. It’s a truly moving film that captures the spirit of resilience and healing that we’ve been talking about today.

Amanda Peppard: And as we close out this episode, we want to remind our listeners that if you’re struggling with grief or loss, you don’t have to go through it alone. Griefline’s helpline is available seven days a week from 6:00 AM to midnight. You can also join our online forums for community support or visit our resource hub for helpful information.

Louisa Smith: We’ll be back next time to mark the anniversary of the Queensland floods. It’s been 11 years since those devastating events, and we’ll be speaking with survivors about how they’ve found life after loss.

Amanda Peppard: Thank you for listening to Life After Loss, a podcast brought to you by Griefline. This episode was made possible thanks to the NAB Foundation Community Grants program. I’m Amanda Peppard.

Louisa Smith: And I’m Louisa Smith. Thank you for being with us today. Remember, you are not alone in your grief.

Amanda Peppard: Take care, and we’ll see you next time.

Louisa Smith: Goodbye.

Voiceover: This episode of the Life After Loss podcast was brought to you by Griefline, thanks to the NAB Foundation Community Grants program. Louisa Smith and Amanda Peppard are your hosts. Audio editing and engineering by Phoenix Manson. Original music by Tilly Vickers Willis. Creative producer, Amanda Peppard.

The episode also features excerpts from Andrew Kaneider’s film Mourning Country and the perspective of Noel Butler – a Budawang elder from the Yuin Nation, who lost his home and the aboriginal cultural centre he founded with his wife Trish in the same bushfires. For Noel the loss is much greater than shelter. It’s the unimaginable loss of flora and fauna that he was so connected to… having witnessed decades of disregard for the natural world. The film was made on the country of the Dhurga language group known as Yuin. Griefline pays its respects to the people, culture and values of the land that has been nurtured by Elders of the past and present for thousands of years.

• David Kessler: www.grief.com and www.AboutGrief.com
• Finding Meaning: The Sixth Stage of Grief
• Mourning Country
• Katherine Boland

Credits

This episode of the Life After Loss podcast was brought to you by Griefline thanks to the NAB Foundation Community Grants Program.

• Co-Hosts – Louisa Smith and Amanda Peppard
• Original Music – Tilly Vickers-Willis
• Audio Engineer – Phoenix Mason
• Creative Producer – Amanda Peppard