Learning How to Live Again: Michael Reed’s Years-Long Journey Through Pain and Recovery

Anyone who lived near Smoky Mountain National Park a decade ago will never forget the hellish sky, bathed in surreal oranges and grays, thick with smoke. For Michael Reed, the scene marked the beginning of a long journey of learning how to live again.

Learning How to Live Again
The Gatlinburg wildfire was among the worst in Tennessee history. Against this backdrop, Michael Reed began a journey of learning how to live again.

The wildfire that turned the sky apocalyptic ignited on November 23, 2016, in a remote corner of one of America’s most treasured parks. Within five days, the inferno would engulf Gatlinburg, Tennessee, destroy thousands of buildings, and claim 14 lives—including Michael’s wife, Constance, and their two daughters, Chloe and Lily.

Nearly a decade later, Michael continues his journey, now from a place of deeper understanding. 

Encouraged by others to share his story, he recently released his latest book, The Million Stages of Healing, a companion to his best-selling The Million Stages of Grief, as well as The Owl and the Ladybug, an illustrated book designed to help children understand grief and loss.

“You need to find a purpose for your pain,” Michael told me recently, just before his new book’s release. “It’s important to remember you are never alone in your grief. We are more connected than we realize.”

The Day That Lives in Infamy

Though memories blur with time, the Gatlinburg wildfire—one of the worst in Tennessee history—is still indelibly etched in my mind. I can still see the eerie sky and hear the relentless news coverage. To call this life-altering event unexpected would be an understatement.

In the fall of 2016, Tennessee, much like the rest of the South, was a tinderbox. Weeks earlier, a wildfire raged in the Chilhowee Mountains directly in front of our house. Still, in our case, the winds remained relatively calm, and firefighters used helicopters to dip water from the Little River and douse the conflagration that would leave large swaths devoid of vegetation for years.

The Gatlinburg blaze, however, was different.

The fire started high atop Chimney Tops, a rocky peak miles from civilization. U.S. Park Service personnel initially chose to let it burn itself out due to its size and remote location. Five days later, hurricane-force winds that gusted to more than 90 miles per hour and parched conditions combined to create a perfect storm.

Michael Reed
Michael Reed

Michael and his son weren’t home when the wildfires approached his neighborhood. Stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic, he got a call from his wife. She was frantic. They headed home, only to discover that the wildfire had consumed not only their home but every house in the area.

Now, only the howling wind, falling limbs, and embers pelting his windshield remain seared in Michael’s memory.

He learned their fate in less than a week. “That’s the image I can’t get out of my head,” Michael recalled, his voice breaking.

And so began the process of learning how to live again.

The Aftermath

Can you imagine being in Michael’s shoes? Desperate himself and driven by his wife’s fear, he and his son made the perilous trip to rescue Constance, the girls, and the family pets, but could do nothing to save them.

“I have a lifetime of memories,” he said during our conversation. “All I have to do is close my eyes, and I remember. The survivor’s guilt and trauma destroyed the healing process.”

He spent years in darkness, barely functioning—haunted by PTSD, anxiety, grief, fear, and suicidal thoughts. Plagued by nightmares, he began writing in 2018, discovering that putting his pain into words helped him grasp the magnitude of his loss and offered some relief to his troubled mind.

He realized that grief is not confined to the five stages proposed by psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross. These stages offer only the faintest outline of a far more complex experience. Grief evolves and comes in waves. It subsides and then crashes back without warning. The five stages, he said, “can feel as though they have fractured into a million stages.”

His experience taught him that moving forward doesn’t mean leaving love behind—it means learning to carry it differently, through moments of courage, honesty, and resilience.

That Michael managed a full-time job and parenting responsibilities—while writing three books and taking undergraduate courses in behavioral health science—is a testament to his grit and his ability to reshape his identity, relationships, and his sense of purpose.

“I want to teach people to find meaning and purpose in their lives… I want to pay it forward.”

Michael is learning how to live again.

His books are available on Amazon and other retailers

Michael Reed
At a city memorial, Michael pays tribute to the souls who perished during the Gatlinburg wildfire.

6 thoughts on “Learning How to Live Again: Michael Reed’s Years-Long Journey Through Pain and Recovery”

    1. Thank you, my friend. I hope you’re doing well. I’ve been thinking about you lately, and, bam, here you are! Take care.

  1. Irene Chambers

    My husband and I had visited the Gatlinburg area a few years before the fire. My heart goes out to all who lost loved ones. This is a touching story of loss and new beginnings. Thanks for sharing it.

    1. Lori J Keesey

      My husband and I were just looking through his photos last night. We’d driven to Gatlinburg several days after the fire and were just shocked at the devastation. It seemed so random. Some homes somehow escaped; others were burned to the ground. Thanks for taking the time to read Michael’s story.

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