It is no secret that loss is a significant part of our work in fire and emergency services. The visible losses we see are in the burned-out structures, the mangled vehicles, and the tears of loved ones as we conduct a pronouncement after exhausting all our efforts. But there’s another kind of loss — quieter, harder to name. A loss that our families and friends often feel long before we recognize it ourselves.

Last April, I had the opportunity to attend the Shield of Armor Wellness Seminar hosted by the Cape Girardeau Police Department. Their group put together a powerful lineup of speakers focused on improving our mental wellness, driving growth, and creating cultural change. Dr. Erin Craw opened the first session with thought-provoking insights drawn from her research and her first-hand experience. As the daughter of a police officer, she shared personal stories that hit deeply — and I want to highlight one in particular.

It’s called ambiguous loss — and this was the first time I had ever heard of it.

What Is Ambiguous Loss?

Dr. Pauline Boss first identified ambiguous loss in the 1970s as a form of grief without closure. She describes two types:

Type 1 – Physical absence with psychological presence Example: Being on shift and missing a holiday, birthday, or other special event.

Type 2 – Psychological absence with physical presence Example: Being with family and friends but not mentally connected due to a critical incident you recently responded to.

I imagine that after reading this brief overview, it probably sounds familiar to you. When I first heard Dr. Craw describe this, one particular memory came rushing back: a photo my aunt took two years ago of me and my youngest son at a wrestling tournament.

Why It Hits Hard

Looking back on that period, I was at an extremely low point. I was isolating myself from everyone. My phone was constantly on “Do Not Disturb.” I wouldn’t respond to text messages or voicemails. And yet, like so many of us, I showed up for every shift I was scheduled for — and every event I was able to physically attend.

This picture from April 2023 speaks volumes when I think about where I was mentally at that time. At the end of the seminar in Cape Girardeau, I pulled up the photo on my camera roll and had a deep, candid conversation about what I was feeling — then and now.

In the picture, you can see my son looking up at me (I am a tad taller) as I gave him a pep talk before he stepped onto the mat for day two of the tournament. The question that still lingers for me — and one I can’t fully answer — is this: Was I both physically and psychologically present?

The photo proves I was there, standing beside him. But mentally? I don’t know.

Recently, he and I talked about this picture. It turns out it’s one of his favorites of us together. And yes — I’m candid with him about my struggles. That’s why we had an open conversation about where I was mentally back then, how I see it now, and how far I’ve come.

Fast forward to his senior night on Jan. 29, 2025. Another moment was captured — and this one told a different story. I can tell you with absolute certainty that I was both physically and mentally present this time.

Each photo reflects just one moment, but our lives — and our stories — are a collection of many. And in that collection, we owe it to our families, our friends, and each other to do better. To shift our culture and take proactive steps to make the fire service — and ourselves — stronger than we found them.

Naming the Unseen

The power of naming this kind of loss is that it gives shape to something formless. As firefighters, we’re problem-solvers. We work best when we know what we’re facing and what we’ve trained for.

We haven’t trained for this — not yet. But by naming it and calling it out as ambiguous loss, we define a strategic objective to overcome. Without a name, we can’t fight it. Giving it a name makes it real — and that’s where healing begins.

When we know what we’re dealing with, we can stop blaming ourselves for not “getting over it.” We can stop expecting to just “snap out of it.” And we can start implementing practical tactics to walk through it — together.

What Can We Do?

There are no quick fixes or one-size-fits-all solutions, but there are ways forward:

  • Acknowledge it: Be vulnerable. Talk to someone you trust — a peer, a coach, or a clinician
  • Grieve what’s missing: There is still loss here, even if it doesn’t fit the traditional definition. Grieving becomes a form of strength
  • Find new meaning: Identify the values, missions, or connections that still hold true for you — and let them anchor you
  • Support others: If you recognize someone else experiencing ambiguous loss, be present for them
  • Allow duality: Two things can be true at once. You can feel proud and exhausted. You can be grateful and overwhelmed

A Final Word

The toughest fires we fight aren’t always on the fireground. When we name the formless — when we face these abstract feelings and emotions together — we take away their power.

Ambiguous loss may never offer closure. But it can give us an opportunity for connection, for growth, and for building a deeper kind of resilience — one that doesn’t just survive the fire but rises from the ashes, stronger and more purposeful than before.

You’re not alone in this.

Battalion Chief CJ Dickinson is a 26-year veteran of the fire and emergency service community.