NOTE: Emily is the Monterey Bay Parent spring intern and lives in Southern California. This is her first hand account of living with the wildfires in her community.
Heartbreaking. That’s all I could think when I saw the devastation caused by the Eaton Canyon fires in Los Angeles. Beautiful homes were reduced to piles of black rubble. Friends from different parts of the affected areas reached out, sharing their stories of losing not just their homes but everything that made those homes special—memories and personal belongings, all gone in an instant.
On January 7th, I overheard the news in the evening about the powerful Santa Ana winds that were about to hit Los Angeles. Going as fast as 100 mph, these winds were heading straight for the city and its surrounding areas. I didn’t think much of it at the time—I’m sure many locals didn’t, either. The area was dry, but wildfires are something we’ve all become somewhat accustomed to. But this was different. We weren’t prepared for what these winds would unleash. Evacuations were ordered, and that’s when it became clear: those “strong winds” were just the beginning of something much worse.
The next morning, January 8th, I woke up to the news blaring from my TV: “The Palisades Fire… The Altadena Fire… The Pasadena Fire…” As someone who lives close to those areas, I thought, “Will my neighborhood be next?” News reporters were on the scene, and as we switched between channels—KTLA, Telemundo, and others—we could see not only the physical destruction but also the emotional toll it was taking on residents.
We couldn’t leave our house. The air outside was thick with smoke, ash, and fire embers. The blue sky was out of sight, and the sunlight cast an eerie orange glow, feeling somewhat apocalyptic. Nature had been pulverized, the fire leaving its white residue on everything. But at least we still had our home, our family was safe, and we had what we needed.
But as I saw the reports and read the notifications on my phone, I knew this was not the case for everyone. Families had lost everything. It was a devastating loss to see. For the next few days, the news was nonstop, and we stayed indoors due to the hazardous air quality. It almost felt like the pandemic all over again—except this time, people didn’t even have the option to step outside.
The destruction was everywhere. Branches, trees, gates, and plants were uprooted and scattered across lawns and streets. To the naked eye, everything was in chaos. And to the heart, it felt just the same. Yes, I saw the mourning in the faces of those who had lost their homes, but I also saw the optimism of residents for the future, the bravery of first responders—firefighters, ambulance teams, healthcare workers—and the collective support of the community.
I began to see something beautiful, too. Relief efforts were organized, donations rushed in, volunteers stepped forward, and unaffected homes were opened to those in need. Meals were shared, condolences were sent, and mental health resources were advocated to all. People showed up for each other in ways that reminded me that, while the fires could be contained, the
The emotional burn will linger long after the flames are gone. We need each other and should support one another with love during these times of heartache and danger.
I had a conversation with an older woman who had already faced a very difficult loss of life–the love of her life. She had recently lost her home in Altadena, and while the loss of her possessions was devastating, she told me something that really stuck with me. She said that having already lost her loved one, she knew that possessions could be replaced—but the things that really matter, the things that give life meaning, can never be. Her perspective was incredibly moving, especially considering she had “lost it all.” But in her grief, she found a deep understanding: love, community, kindness—those are the things that can never be destroyed by anything, not even a fire.
In the midst of all the pain and loss, there was an undeniable surge of kindness, giving, and service. And that is the next step in healing. Restoring what was lost and comforting the grieving. A small act of kindness during times like these goes a long way. For families in Monterey Bay who do not have a connection to someone who was affected, it might feel like there is a disconnection from these disasters, but the fires are a sign that just because it is not your loss does not mean you do not feel the loss in your heart. We don’t know when something like this can happen, but we do know that when it does, the strength of a community makes all the difference.
Please refer to the Resources Article to learn how you can help during this time of need.
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