By Kate Walters, American Red Cross

When Jim arrived at an American Red Cross distribution site wearing a U.S. Navy Seabees "Can Do" cap and a T-shirt proclaiming him "The World’s Greatest Grandpa," he had come for cleanup supplies.

As one volunteer distributed rakes, gloves and masks, Disaster Mental Health volunteer Mike Baker began talking with the family. He soon realized Jim was preparing for something harder than cleanup: Returning to the mountain property where he had built his home more than 25 years ago.

The fire had flattened Jim's log house and scarred the forest, leaving only the garage. Baker offered to accompany the family.

Jim’s son-in-law, Gabe, drove Baker up the quarter-mile road on an ATV to make sure it was passable. They then returned for Jim and his daughter, Julia.

Baker's more than 20 years of disaster experience told him that returning home can be a profound emotional turning point.

"Up until this point, people have been living on hope," Baker said. "A lot of people have been told their home was destroyed, but there's still hope that something is there. It could be something small, like a piece of jewelry."

At the property, the place Jim knew was almost unrecognizable. Blackened trees stood across the mountainside while twisted sheets of metal covered the foundation where his home once stood. Without the dense forest, rock formations long hidden among the trees were suddenly visible.

Standing among the ruins, Jim began sharing memories. A contractor stacked the logs and made the structure weather-tight, but Jim finished the interior and built a 1,400-square-foot redwood deck. He also built the surviving garage to match the house.

"It was a labor of love," Jim said.

From the porch, he could once see the beloved Turtle Rock and the land stretching east. Over the years, the growing forest gradually obscured the view. Now Turtle Rock and other formations could be seen again—but only because so many trees were gone.

Julia, who lives in Pueblo, also grieved the loss of the place. Her father's property had always been somewhere she could go when life became complicated — a peaceful refuge where she could clear her head.

Now she carefully searched the rubble for pieces of the life her family had shared there. Among the unstable debris, Julia found several decorative pots, including some that had survived remarkably intact. She carried the soot-covered keepsakes excitedly to her father as Baker knelt nearby, listening.

The family's connection to the nine-acre property reaches far beyond the house. Jim's mother-in-law's ashes are buried near the top of a ridge, marked by a gravestone, while a memorial for his granddaughter rests farther down the property.

Those memorials add weight to the question Jim cannot yet answer: Will he rebuild?

"Depends on what time of the day you ask me," he said.

Baker stayed close as Jim remembered, shed tears and considered an uncertain future. His role was not to push Jim toward a decision or take away his grief. It was to listen, recognize the family's emotional needs and help ensure they did not have to face the moment alone.

"This is where reality hits the road," Baker said. "This is where people have to start processing and making decisions. Are they going to stay? Are they going to rebuild? Are they going to start cleaning up?"

As part of the Colorado wildfires disaster relief operation, specially trained Red Cross Disaster Mental Health volunteers bring professional expertise to the emotional side of recovery. These mental health professionals understand how trauma, grief and uncertainty can affect people after a disaster. Their work is often quiet — listening, offering reassurance and connecting people with additional support — but it is an essential part of Red Cross service delivery.

For Jim, the first return brought painful confirmation of all the fire had taken. But he did not face it alone. His family stood beside him, Julia recovered a few treasured objects from the ashes, and Baker remained close — offering the skilled, compassionate support that can matter so much when someone is facing what remains.